Powergaming
by Mythrae
Summary: This is a Vampire: the Masquerade story, set before the White Wolf changes. Old School, as it were. It revolves around the Sabbat, so naturally, it is not nice at all. There is language, there are some gruesome bits. You have been warned. Also... keep in mind that this is my own interpretation of a game and its rules, so it may not be the same as your own.
1. Prologue

Prologue

It was the talk of the town.

The Archbishop of Southern Ontario had been becoming increasingly erratic over the past several years and the Sabbat in the area wasn't as tight knit as it should have been. The upper echelons of the Sabbat were worried about the future and security of the sect and they kept their eyes on the situation. As the troubles got worse the High Muckety‑Mucks considered stepping in, but before they did, their problems were solved.

Meer, Bishop of Toronto and the surrounding areas, leader of the largest pack in the city, challenged the old Archbishop to Monomacy.

It was a well-attended event. Held in SkyDome, Toronto's largest indoor arena, Meer and the Archbishop squared off, cheered on by the hordes of vampires in the bleachers.

"Give it up, old man," Meer challenged the elder as she circled warily, watching him closely. The Archbishop was Brujah and a cunning opponent ‑ he would never have ascended in rank as high as he did if he wasn't. But Meer had some tricks up her sleeve that the Traditionalist wouldn't be expecting. She hoped.

"You, _Childe,_ have no hope in Hades of beating me," the Archbishop replied insultingly. "Give up now and I will let you live as my slave."

"I'd rather meet Final Death than serve any longer under you, you senile old freak," Meer snapped at him. One hand shot forward and a shadow tendril flickered out towards the elder's head, set on snaring him.

The elder seemed to vanish and Meer felt only a gush of wind before a blow to her side. Her hearing acute and her own speed quicker than average, she managed to twist enough that the knife in the elder's hand only caught her in a shallow gash. Retaliating, she hurled herself at his feet, pulling her shadows in to wrap around them, causing the elder to stumble. Meer landed against his knees, knocking him onto his backside.

Pulling out her own knife ‑ the High Muckety‑Mucks had forbidden anything stronger than a knife ‑ Meer slashed at his stomach, opening it like a ripe tomato. The elder squealed, a high annoying sound, and powerfully bucked, sending Meer flying off him. She crashed to the ground, snapping two of her fingers, then bounced back to her feet. The elder was after her again, and Meer barely dodged out of the way of his attack.

_Typical Brujah,_ she heard a cynical voice in her head. _He has other Disciplines, but he's reverted to his Clan's own. Brute strength and ignorance._

_Suggestions, Drake?_ Meer inquired as she dodged again out of the elder's way and slashed at his arm as he blew past her.

Drake had several suggestions and Meer noted all of them, while keeping out of the elder's way.

"Give up!" the Archbishop demanded as he caught Meer's arm and half sliced it off with his knife. "Or are you so eager for Final Death?"

"I hope you're ready for it," Meer replied, driving forward with lightning moves, sending the shadows swirling around her so that her true body was hidden and it was hard to tell exactly where she was. The elder was certainly confused, for his knife slashes were way off the mark. Meer used her steel knife to hamstring his ankles as she dove to the side of him and the elder went down with another high-pitched scream.

_Finish him!_ Meer was more than happy to oblige. Landing on the elder's chest, she wove an illusion of a stake in front of the Archbishop's wide eyes and drove it into his chest. His mind, seeing the doom, froze, despite the fact that the stake itself wasn't real. His body stilled into paralysis and Meer drove her fangs into his neck.

The Archbishop‑no‑more died, and his centuries old body crumbled into fine grey dust as Meer drained his blood and soul from him, bringing herself another step closer to Caine. A hush from the crowd, then cheers and yells erupted, echoing through SkyDome like thunder. Meer stood up slowly, the blood from her wounds slowing their rush as she healed herself.

_Babe, you did it!_ Drake's triumphant voice yelled in her mind. _You are the woman! You are the best! You were..._ His voice was cut off and silence suddenly filled Meer's mind, to be replaced by a mental voice so old that she trembled at the millennia behind it.

_You have won the challenge, Meer of Clan Lasombra,_ the voice told her in its flat tone. _ Do you feel yourself ready to accept the duties and responsibilities of Archbishop?_

_Yes!_ Meer replied defiantly. At this moment, she felt that she could do anything.

_Then we accept you. You will no longer be leader of a single pack, you will be leader of all packs in the defined area. Choose your replacement or let your pack challenge amongst itself for packleader. _

_What of the new Bishop?_

_That will be determined in the usual manner..._


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Drake led his pack back along Front Street towards Centre Island where they had their haven. The pack was quite literally flying off the lampposts and buildings that they passed; they were so pumped from the fight.

"Wasn't it great?" Spike, a blue mohawked Brujah demanded of the black trench coat clad man walking next to him.

"Yes," Salem nodded, grinning at him. "Meer fought well. I picked up a few tricks."

"Damn, she was rad!" Spike crowed. "That old fart didn't stand a chance against our Meer!"

Salem watched with amusement as Spike lashed out with his fists at Dennis, a slow-witted Malkavian who promptly fought back. Salem had enjoyed the fight the same as the others, but it had had special interest for him. It wasn't common knowledge, but his true blood Sire was Meer and he was eager for the woman to do well. His acknowledged Sire, Maggie, was of Clan Nosferatu and he loved her dearly, but Meer had always had a place in his heart for the Gift she had given him.

However painfully.

Salem walked a little faster and caught up to Drake who was walking silently alone.

"Thinking big thoughts, Kemo Sabe?" Salem inquired, cocking an eyebrow at his packleader.

"Yeah, actually," Drake nodded, not playing along with Salem for once. "Salem, what did you get out of tonight's fight?"

"A sore neck from the rampant use of Celerity?" Salem quipped with a grin.

"Seriously, asshole," Drake growled, smacking his arm.

"Ow!" Salem rubbed his arm, although the blow hadn't hurt very much. "Ok, seriously. Well, we have a new Archbishop, which should tighten things up around here a bit. Probably take some time though."

"Agreed," Drake nodded. "What else?"

Salem screwed up his face and thought. "There will be a new packleader for Meer's pack, I gather. She won't be able to handle her pack and her new duties."

"Agreed again," Drake said. "Any thoughts on who that would be?"

"Mmm, Christine probably," Salem said slowly. "She's been second in command since Gabriel the Tzimisce was killed."

"You're probably right," Drake looked around to make sure the rest of the pack was still following. They were, of course. "What else did you learn?"

Salem thought back. "Oh! We'll have to have a new Bishop."

"Right," Drake said gloomily. "That's the one I'm worried about."

"Why?" Salem inquired. "How does it affect you?"

Drake stared at him. "Sometimes I forget how young you really are, Salem. You don't know how a Bishop is chosen?"

"Nope," Salem shook his head. "Same way as Archbishop? But there's no one to call Monomacy on now that Meer's been promoted."

"Exactly." Drake made his way to the front of the ferry for the trip. "Anyone in the area who wants the Bishop status is going to have to fight for it."

"With whom though?"

"With everyone else who wants the Bishop status."

Salem stared at him. "That's going to be one hell of a mess. I can think of at least three packleaders who'd want it. Not to mention a number of underlings."

"Underlings won't stand a chance," Drake replied. "Only packleaders will be considered. You have to work your way up in the ranks."

"Golly gee, I can't be Bishop?" Salem heaved a mock sorrowful sigh. "I'm bitterly disappointed."

"Yeah, I'll just bet," Drake laughed. "Out of curiosity though, whom do you see in contention?"

Salem held up a hand and started ticking off fingers. "Shelley. Vince. You."

"Shelley and I, yes," Drake nodded. "I'm going to fight for it. Except for Meer, I'm the oldest in the city. Vince, no."

"Why not?" Salem looked curiously at him. "He's ambitious."

"He's also Tremere _antitribu_." When this earned a blank look, Drake explained. "Tremere can never rise above packleader status. It's a rule and it's never broken. He'd get munched fast by the higher-ups if he tried for Bishop."

"Weird," Salem shook his head. "Ok, so you and Shelley. You can whup her. Anyone else?"

"Yes, actually, quite a few," Drake said gloomily. "Christine will go for it if she's made packleader. I wouldn't be surprised if Brujah-Boy goes for it. Jesse and Ysabel possibly, although if they do, I think they'll concentrate on each other first which would give me time to get rid of the others."

"Whoa," Salem held up a hand, his eyes wide. "'Get rid of'? Is this a fight to the death?"

"Probably," Drake nodded. "It usually has been in the past. Or at least a fight to the maim."

Salem laughed. "A fight to the maim, huh? Cute. Ok, so you maim everyone else and you become Bishop. Right?"

"That's the idea."

"It's a mighty good one."

"I thought so."

Drake and Salem exchanged grins as the ferry docked and they, with the rest of the pack bouncing along behind them, headed for the haven.

The large pack waited on tenterhooks for Meer, their up-until-tonight packleader, to speak. They had been yelling themselves hoarse at her triumph and there had been a gluttony of feeding all the way back to their home turf. Meer had been quiet most of the way, her second-in-command Christine walking beside her just as silently. When they reached the communal haven the pack had quickly settled down onto the couches and chairs within and turned eager faces towards Meer.

The Lasombra Archbishop studied her pack. She had been their leader and Bishop for nearly a hundred years now and it was going to be strange not running with them anymore. Oh, it didn't mean she couldn't run with them if she chose, but her duties would not allow it to become a regular occurrence. She needed to choose a new leader or she needed to let them fight it out amongst themselves. Meer didn't really want that; she loved the people in her pack, they were her family. Looking them over again, she finally held up a hand for silence.

"My packmates, although I have wanted this position I regret leaving you," she began. "It was time for a change and I felt I was the one best able to bring it about."

"And you were right," Christine put in with a smile. "Things are going to be better around here."

"Yes," Meer nodded with a grim smile. "Right now, though, this pack has no leader and I would not have any of you fight it out. There's going to be enough fighting soon. I, therefore, will appoint a packleader for you."

The pack leaned forward, awaiting her decision, although most suspected whom she would choose.

"Christine, Clan Brujah, you are hereby appointed packleader of the Blood Ravens," Meer turned and sent out a shadow tendril to encircle Christine's head gently before rising into the air and assuming the shape of a raven before dissolving back into shadow. "Lead them well and protect your turf against all encroachers."

"I accept this duty and will serve under you willingly," Christine replied ritually. "May the Blood Ravens never grow less."

"I object to this!"

Christine and Meer whirled to see a slim, dangerous looking member of their pack striding towards them.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Windsor?" Christine demanded.

"I'm objecting to this farce," Windsor the Lasombra snorted. "I've been a member of this pack longer than she has and I believe I have just as much right if not more to lead it."

There was a small chorus of "yeah!"s from other packmembers.

Meer studied him. "I have chosen Christine."

"Then I challenge Christine to the leadership of the pack." Windsor licked his lips and bared his fangs.

"Anytime you're willing, Shadow-Boy," Christine hissed at him, crouching into an offensive stance.

"No!" Meer stepped between them and both vampires backed away from her presence. "There will be no infighting. There are troubled times ahead and this pack should remain as one." Windsor began to protest and Meer cut him off with a glance. "If you feel that you can not remain under Christine's leadership, then get out."

Windsor's eyes widened. "I..."

Meer quelled him again. "I give you the area of Toronto between Coxwell and Islington, bordered as usual by Shelley and Drake. You will not challenge for Bishop and you will remain there until the position of Bishop is chosen. Only after that may you challenge for more hunting grounds. Do you understand?"

Windsor swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Archbishop. I understand."

Christine glared at him. "You have ten minutes to get lost, asshole."

Windsor looked back and two other packmembers, another Lasombra named Frieda and a Toreador named Jenni, stepped forward. Gathering a few items from their former sleeping places, the three left the haven.

Meer spoke a few quiet words to Christine then left herself. Christine, new packleader of the Blood Ravens, turned to survey her pack. They were diminished more now than they had ever been. Four Ravnos that had run with them for several years had left the moment Meer had announced that she planned to challenge the Arch Bishop. Gabriel the Tzimisce priest had been killed in a Camarilla raid in Scarborough not long before and now with Windsor and his cronies' defection, Christine's pack was down to six, including herself. Jeff, fellow Brujah, Colleen a flaky Malkavian, and three Panders, Stuart, Aaron and Nick, the latter having taken over priest duties. It was a far cry from the fourteen they had been before. Perhaps when they enlarged their pack for the fights, some good packmembers might result. Christine sat down heavily and the pack clustered closer. Jeff, her lover and best friend, plopped down onto her lap.

"So what now, oh illustrious pack leader?" he inquired.

"Now we figure out exactly what we're going to do," Christine replied, absently tickling his stomach. "You're Templar so start thinking about our course of action when we're attacked."

"By Windsor?" Aaron snorted a laugh. "That little punk can't even stand up to me and I'm Pander!"

"Windsor is the least of our problems, Aaron," Christine shook her head. "We need to worry about Shelley. And possibly Ysabel and Jesse."

"Bishop status," Jeff breathed, his eyes widening. "Oh, Caine's Teeth, I forgot about that. You gonna run?"

"Of course," Christine shrugged. "The packleader of the Blood Ravens has always been Bishop."

"You've got stiff competition," Nick warned, picking up the Vaulderie bowl to prepare the Ritual. "Shelley, Jesse and Ysabel will definitely go for it."

"And Drake," Jeff reminded her. "He's gonna be stiffest I think."

Christine sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "Ok, let's figure out who in the city we have to worry about. Give me the pack names rather than the packleaders though. We'll be up against the whole pack."

"All right, then," Nick mused, thinking. "Caine's Thunder. Stealth. Dogs of War. Shadow Dragons."

"Higher Learning and the Ratpack are out of the running, I suspect," Aaron said thoughtfully. "Nos and Malks don't tend to get involved in higher politics."

"Yeah, and besides, those two are having far too much fun playing in Scarborough," Christine laughed. "Ok, scratch them off. Who else? Alleyn's Moondancers?"

"Considering you can never find the Gangrel bitch when you want her, I doubt highly she'll be running for Bishop," Jeff snorted. "She and her little friends of the earth spend more time playing in the trees than anything else."

"Ok, scratch her off too." Christine thought for a moment. "Vince's Dark Dweomer is out. But he might support me. What about Miyamoto's Pride?"

There was laughter from the whole pack at this. The Miyamoto's Pride packleader, the Toreador Genevieve, was more concerned with her social debauchery and standing to want to take on more responsibility. Caine forbid that duty should cut into her schedule!

"All right, all right," Christine smiled. "Brujah-Boy's Pack Rage will go for it."

"That's a stupid name," Jeff grumbled. "Pack and him. Doesn't he have a real name?"

"Yeah, but who remembers it?" Christine shrugged. "The idiot is the stereotypical Clan member we all try to be different from. He's such an ass. Only ever let Meer into his turf."

"He's gonna have to let you in now," Jeff pointed out.

"No, he'll have to let the new Bishop in," Christine corrected him.

"Which will be you."

"I hope so." She looked around. "I'm certainly going to fight for it. Are you all with me?"

Her pack chorused their approval and support.

Shelley ranged through the streets of downtown Toronto, her small pack spread out behind her. She was brooding, something that the forever young Tzimisce was prone to do anyway. This time, though, she was brooding about something other than herself. This time, her future was at stake and she was determined to make the most of this golden opportunity to advance.

She was going to be Bishop, damn it, if it killed her.

"Yo, Shell!"

A rangy older man loped up to her.

"What?" Shelley slanted him a glance.

"You want some food?" the man jerked a thumb behind them. "Rob found a daycare."

"No," Shelley said shortly. "I'll eat later."

"Sure," the man nodded agreeably and turned to go back to the buffet.

"Hey, Kieran?" Shelley called and the man looked back inquiringly. "Thanks."

Kieran stopped his forward movement and turned around, coming back up to her.

"All right," he said flatly. "What gives?"

"Pardon?"

"What's eating you, Shell? You never say thank you. And you love appetizers."

Shelley turned an impassive face on him. "Times change."

"You don't."

Shelley's impassive face turned cold. "You challenging my word, Kieran?"

"Hell, no," Kieran held up his hands. "Are you kidding me? You'd turn my face into an amusement park."

"You'd be wise to remember that," Shelley growled.

Kieran shrugged but continued walking beside her. After a moment, Shelley stopped in her tracks and rounded on him.

"Why are you following me?"

"You're my packleader," Kieran replied. "And your second in command got killed three weeks ago and you haven't replaced him yet. And I'm the oldest in the pack."

"So?" Shelley's tone was dangerous.

"So," Kieran let the word draw out. "You need a lieutenant."

"And why precisely should that be you?"

Kieran patted her head, a dangerous move. "I'm the oldest and the most qualified."

Shelley grabbed his arm, brutally twisting it up behind his back. Kieran arched backwards but made no sound. Shelley stroked a hand over his shoulder and fused his arm in that position before letting go. "Touch me again like that, dog, and I'll do more than this."

Kieran nodded, his face screwed up in pain. "You still need a lieutenant."

"Maybe," Shelley said moodily. "It still might not be you."

"Look who you have to choose from though," Kieran mentioned, as persuasive as he could be under the circumstances. "A Malkavian, a Nos and a Pander."

"Not to mention a Gangrel with a penchance for getting his body mangled," Shelley gave a half smile.

"Well, true," Kieran winced. "If I promise never to pat you again, will you fix me?"

"No, and asking just earned you an extra night with it." Shelley looked around, somewhat absently. "Kieran, I'm running for Bishop."

"Are you!" Kieran was immensely pleased. "Good! You'll win for sure."

"I'm glad you're so optimistic," Shelley snapped sarcastically. "I'm up against fuckin' Drake, Ysabel and Jesse and those are only the ones I'm certain of!"

"You know you can take out Ysabel and Jesse," Kieran argued. "Especially since they'll probably take each other out before you even get to them."

"And Drake?"

"Ok, he's a little tougher." Kieran stroked his chin with his one usable hand. "Maybe if we surprised him? Ganged up on him all of us?"

"It's a thought," Shelley mused. "If I can get close to him, I'll incapacitate him in one touch."

"That's the spirit!" Kieran crowed, punching at the air with his fist. "We'll take him out first then the rest will be easy!"

Shelley had to smile. Maybe it would work after all. She was the oldest in the city next to Drake - if she took him out first, then she would practically be a shoe in. Maybe she should gather the pack and see what sort of ideas they had. She would have to strike soon, or not at all. Drake would be thinking along the same lines and would be ready for something. But this soon after the Monomacy Challenge? She might have a chance.

She nodded decisively. Yes, she'd meet with her pack and they would decide the best plan. Maybe she'd even give Kieran back his arm after a few hours for his suggestion.

_Nah._

The shadows rolled and swirled around the area and the vampire approaching could see nothing but black mist. Stopping involuntarily before the wall of shadows, the vampire strained to see within.

Nothing.

"Hello?"

"You are late," came a slow, tired, guttural voice from within the darkness.

"The traffic was horrible," the vampire replied. "I'm sorry."

"Don't let it happen again." There was a shifting pause. "News?"

"The Lasombra Meer won and is now Archbishop," the vampire recited thoughtfully. "She chose Christine, a Brujah, to succeed her and the Blood Ravens split up."

"I know all this," the tired voice sounded impatient. "More?"

"Drake is ready to fight, as are Shelley and Christine," the vampire continued. "Jesse and Ysabel ready themselves to attack each other."

"Neither will survive, I've grown tired of their childish antics," the voice murmured. "The other three will be amusing to watch."

Emboldened by what seemed to be approval, the vampire continued. "Spiral and Rat do nothing that I can discover. The others do not seem to be interested."

There was silence and the vampire waited on tenterhooks.

"I have decided who shall be the winner," the voice finally said. "Watch and listen, you may learn something."

"Yes, of course," the vampire commented, disappointed.

"Now go, I do not wish to be disturbed again until you have something important to report."

The vampire turned and left as the shadows darkened to utter blackness.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Drake woke up at sunset and his senses were tingling with apprehension. His eyes wide in the blackness of the Haven, he sharpened his hearing.

Nothing.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath and tossed the duvet he'd spread over himself onto the floor. "I'm hearing things again."

"And talking to yourself, too," a voice spoke at the entrance of his room.

Drake squinted. "Salem? What the hell are you doing awake?"

"Nightmare," Salem shuddered. "Don't get 'em very often now, but wowzers, they're doozies when I do."

"Serves you right for licking up changeling blood at the cottage," Drake grinned at him, shoving the younger vampire ahead of him into the main section of the Haven.

"If I remember correctly, oh gracious leader," Salem stuck out his tongue. "You ordered me to. I was just being a good little Sabbat member."

"Uh-huh," Drake grunted. "The day you're a good little Sabbat member is the day I stake you out for the sun."

"Allow me to rephrase that," Salem smiled. "A good BAD little Sabbat member."

"Much better."

Drake looked around. The rest of his pack, the largest in the city now if the rumours about the Blood Ravens splitting up were true, were stumbling out of their rooms. He was even short members and still had more than anyone else. It was true that Toronto couldn't support huge numbers of vampires, but still, it was rather a low time for the population. Drake counted to himself, mentally tallying who he had as they arrived in the main room of the communal Haven. Avros, the one Ravnos who had run with him for the longest time, had wandered off several months before to follow a Gypsy _kumpanye_ that were descendants of his from long ago. Strangely enough, the Brujah Alex who had long scorned Avros' advances, had gone with him. They might be back, but when, Drake had no idea.

Maggie, Drake's oldest packmember and Salem's adopted Sire, was off in a small town in Nova Scotia readying a takeover - it had been deemed unnecessary to include Salem, as had happened before, and Drake had been somewhat relieved. Salem was young, but his sharp mind and extraordinary talents were a definite asset in the pack. Which was why Drake had made him lieutenant over others who had been around longer. Of course, Salem had screwed it up once long ago, but that was another story.

Two other packmembers were missing and these two Drake still hoped for their return. Shadow, a Nosferatu, had left one night to meet with someone and he had taken Damian, a Malkavian who had fixated upon Shadow as a father figure, with him. Neither had returned and Drake and the pack had done their utmost to find them. They had no luck and it was now nearly a year since their disappearance. Drake still held out hope, but the rest of the pack was realistic enough to know that if the two were going to come back, they'd have come back already.

He had seven in the pack left now, plus himself to make eight. More than the others and surely enough to win any pack fights resulting from the bid for Bishop status.

"So what tonight, oh wise one?" The Brujah Spike inquired of Drake, head butting Salem just for the hell of it. Salem retaliated by wrapping a shadow around Spike's ankles and knocking him to the floor.

"We have to fortify our defences for attack," Drake replied, motioning for the rest of his pack to come closer.

"Whoa!" Spike's eyes widened. "Why? Who's attacking?"

"The other packs in the city, of course," Salem told him with a superior 'I know more than you' tone. "Challenging for Bishop status."

"Sheee-ite," Spike whistled. "Yeah, I shoulda remembered that. Hey Drake, you goin' for it?"

"Of course he is," Salem answered instead.

"Shut up asshole, I can still talk for myself," Drake growled, smacking the back of Salem's head. Salem let out an appropriate "OW!" and shut up. "All right, everyone, as of this moment, you are to consider every other pack in the city the enemy. They will be coming to kill me and they are not going to spare you if you so much as look in their direction. This is all out war and I am NOT going to be meeting Final Death at the end of it."

There was a babble of comments from everyone, then the pretty red haired Lasombra Kelly spoke louder.

"Is everyone going to get involved do you think?"

"No, some won't, some can't," Drake replied. "Salem, fill them in, I want to set Dennis as lookout."

"But you told me to shut up!"

That smart comment earned Salem a kick to the backside that sent him flying over the sofa to land on the Tzimisce Giselle's lap. "Oof! Hi Babe."

"Get off me before I turn you into a Picasso," Giselle said pleasantly and Salem rolled off, his shit eating grin still plastered to his face. Flopping down into a chair, he began to outline what he and Drake had discussed the night before.

Drake headed out of the Haven with the slow witted, literal minded Malkavian Dennis behind him. Dennis was not super quick on the uptake, but set him to guard something and like a loyal dog, he wouldn't let ANYTHING by. The fact that Dennis was a whiz with Dementation was an added bonus.

After several repetitions, Dennis finally understood that he was not to let anyone come anywhere near the Haven no matter what, no matter who. Only members of his own pack were allowed to come. Everyone else was to be driven away by any means available to him. Dennis' eyes brightened at this and he settled down at the base of the roller coaster eagerly. Drake nodded to himself then went back down into the Haven.

Salem had just finished and all eyes turned to Drake as he approached.

"So do we just hole up here until someone kills everyone else then we kill them?" Giselle inquired quietly. She was the pack priest and she was already running through Rituals in her mind to lend the pack strength and courage.

There was a chorus of "Are you kidding?"s from everyone. Which stood to reason - no self respecting Sabbat member hid away when there were fights to be won!

"No," Drake replied after shushing his pack. "I'll be damned if I'm going to sit around and do nothing. We are going to work out a plan, then go out and systematically kill each and every one of the opposing pack leaders."

"Or maim them," Salem added, ducking when Drake's hand raised threateningly.

"Or maim them," Drake repeated. "In this fight, the last packleader standing is the one who gets the status."

There were several fang filled grins. They had permission not to pull punches and every single one of the pack determined that "maiming" was only going to be by accident.

"Right, let's go then," Drake nodded. "I'm leaving Dennis at the Haven so that at least we have a bolt hole if necessary. We all know nothing is going to get by him."

"I suggest we scour the Island first," Salem put in, his tone now serious. "Then once we know it's clean, set Dennis as a guard at the ferry dock. Kelly's influence with the Coast Guard has already made sure that there are no boats coming to the Island other than the ferry - we may as well make the whole place a bolt hole."

"Good thinking," Drake nodded. "Split up then. We'll circle the Island and meet at the docks. Make sure you cover every single inch of it and those of you with Auspex watch for the Obfuscated ones. There's already been one ferry across from the mainland and a sharp enough pack could have been on board, although it's unlikely."

Three and two, the pack split and Drake himself set out towards the ferry docks to make sure no one else came across.

Salem and Spike headed out to cover their half of the Island. Blood brothers ever since Salem had saved Spike's life, they tended to do pretty much everything together. Lasombra and Brujah, they made a powerful team and they didn't expect any trouble even if they did find someone.

"So what happens to us if Drake wins?" Salem inquired of the older vampire. They looked about the same age, early twenties, but Spike was over a hundred and fifty years old while Salem was only sixty.

Spike paused to stick his head in a washroom before answering. "If Drake wins, our pack gets to be lead by the Bishop of the area. Whole pack status goes up, we look better."

Salem stuck his head in the woman's side of the washroom, smiling toothily at the ladies he surprised within. "Excuse me, I'm looking for my wife." A quick check determined that only yummy looking mortals were inside.

"So," he inquired as they continued their patrol. "Do we personally gain any status from this?"

"Not personally," Spike scratched at his foot high blue mohawk. "But it's still a big feather in the hat to have the Bishop as your pack leader. You remember how fuckin' snooty the Blood Ravens are."

"I hate to admit it, but they are pretty damn stuck up," Salem agreed. "Although I liked Gabriel. It was really a shame when he snuffed it."

"His own stupid fault," Spike retorted, catching a small dog that was yapping at him. Looking around and seeing that the owners were not yet in sight, he drained the dog and stuck the corpse up in a tree. "If he hadn't gotten mesmerized by that snake bitch, he never would have been munched."

They continued on, ignoring the cries from the owners when they found their now very dead dog. At the edge of the water, they turned to follow the shoreline around. On the way back, they would zig zag through the woods and cottages to check them. It might take half the night, but their Island would be secure.

"Y'know," Spike commented as they skirted fallen trees and scrutinized the areas around them. "This is actually a good thing."

"Why?" Salem asked obligingly, accurately throwing a rock at a squirrel. The squirrel squeaked and dropped from the branch of the tree it had been on. Salem took a satisfied stomp at its belly, squirting the guts everywhere. He had hated squirrels with a passion ever since one had bitten him when he was newly Embraced.

"Well, this whole fight thing will tighten up the packs," Spike continued. "I mean, look at how comfortable we are with each other. We can waltz into practically anyone's territory and do anything we want. They just assume we're with another pack in the city 'cause who else would have the balls to just go in?"

"And?"

"And this way, people will start gettin' suspicious again. Stop everyone who walks onto their turf, put 'em through challenges to make sure that they're really who they say they are. Hell, we infiltrate the Camarilla. It stands to reason that the Camarilla will want to have people infiltrate us." Spike punched at a tree. "Some o' their vamps are actually smart enough to do it, too."

"Really?" Salem asked admiringly. "Wow, I never thought they had it in 'em."

"Shut up, you know what I mean," Spike grinned. "Seriously though, we gotta watch it. I mean, I know all our guys are Sabbat 'cause I watched all o' their Creation Rites, 'cept Maggie's and Drake's. But some o' the other packs have got members who just came in sayin' they were from another pack somewhere else. Who's to say they aren't Camarilla plants?"

"Mighty deep thinking for a Broo-hah-hah," Salem chuckled, dancing out of the way of Spike's fist. He would take anything from his packleader, but the rest of his packmates had to catch him first. "But I do see your point. Maybe Brujah-Boy's got the right idea, keeping everybody out of his territory."

"Yep, he does," Spike nodded. "But he's still a fuckin' stereotypical jerk."

Salem eyed the leather and denim clad, mohawk sporting, brass knuckle wearing punk beside him and wisely decided not to say anything.

A quarter of the way around the Island, they began seeing the cottages and homes of the people who lived there year 'round. Salem pulled his trench coat around him and rang the bell of the first house. The older lady who answered looked inquiringly at him.

"House inspector," Salem said briefly, pushing his way in. "Gotta do a top to bottom search."

"But," the lady started, obviously having a problem with house inspectors dressed like a punk and a Goth.

"It's all legal, ma'am," Spike said, following Salem in and starting for the basement. "We'll be done soon."

And they were. They lady was obviously relieved when they didn't take anything and only broke one plate almost by accident. Outside, Spike took the precaution of snapping her phone line before they proceeded to the next house.

"Don't want her calling anyone to come home now that it's safe," Spike muttered to Salem who grinned in agreement.

They continued this until they reached the other side of the Island, then began their zig zag back through.

"So far so good," Salem said as they approached the last small string of cottages.

"I figure not even Shelley's pack had time to catch the first ferry," Spike replied. "This is a waste of time, but hey, I'll do anything to avoid being eaten."

"Me too," Salem nodded fervently. "Come on, we'll finish these cottages then I'll race you through the woods."

"Deal!"

Nine of the ten houses went smoothly, their owners uncomfortable but allowing Spike and Salem to search their houses. Living in Sabbat territory, even if they didn't know it, made them more used to strange goings on and possible terrorizations. Spike and Salem restrained themselves and didn't actually take the opportunity to steal anything, although several things were tempting.

The tenth house was dark and quiet when they reached it. A modest two story, Salem knew that the young couple who owned it were always home this time of night. They had two children and believed in a tight schedule. He had been assigned to watch them during one of his training exercises with Maggie five years before and he still kept tabs on them.

"Something's wrong," he told Spike, his senses on sharp alert. "These people are always home."

"Any chance they could be visiting relatives?" Spike inquired, also tense.

"Small," Salem admitted. "Possible, but pretty damn small."

"Then we should be careful, no?"

"Yes."

They crept up to the house and Salem Obfuscated invisible in order to sneak around to the back. Spike, who couldn't do that yet, relied on his own tracking skill to move quietly, staying in the shadows as much as he could. The windows were covered with shades and curtains and afforded no glimpse of the interior of the house. Spike cursed under his breath and gently tried the front door. It was locked, of course, so he crept to the side and tried the windows he could reach. One basement window, propped open to allow the family cat to get in and out, made for a tight entrance, but Spike dropped to the basement cement floor in a matter of moments. Crouching in the blackness, he heightened his hearing and eyesight, scouting for signs of life.

Outside, Salem climbed up a convenient tree, leaving his trademark trench coat behind, as the long folds of cloth would only have hindered him. Staying invisible, he made his way along a branch to the only window he knew would remain open - the window of the parent's bedroom. The mother believed in fresh air at night for adults, not for children. Sliding over the windowsill soundlessly, he dropped to a crouch on the floor and heightened his own sense.

Later, neither could determine who had been jumped first. All they knew was that the inky blackness suddenly exploded in a tangle of fighting limbs and bodies. Spike in the basement was slammed back into the water tank, his arm screaming in pain as it broke. A whoosh of air made him suck his stomach in and Protean wolf claws, gleaming in the very slight moonlight, avoided slicing him open like raw fruit by only an inch.

"Motherfucker!" Spike yelped and moved with blinding speed unerringly into his attacker. He could fight in darkness, his senses attuned to the slightest breath of air and movement. Vicious kicks with both legs bought him enough time to slide two switchblades from his belt and flick the shining blades open. "Come and get me, bastard."

His attacker obliged, not as quickly as Spike but still with enough speed that Spike's twisting aside saved him only from a deeper cut. Growling in earnest, Spike boosted his Celerity and leapt again, landing on top of his attacker and stabbing his knives in as many times as he could before his side was sliced open by those damned claws. Blood sluicing down his side, Spike rolled away and kicked out, the steel toes of his Doc Martens connecting with his attacker's kneecaps and the other gave a sharp cry of pain.

"Gotcha, scum sucker," Spike said happily, diverting some of his blood to seal the slices on his side. "Care to keep playing?"

His attacker apparently did, as he moved, more clumsily now, and sliced again.

"Puppy," Spike hissed insulting, sure that he was facing a Gangrel. Any other Clan would have used their own Disciplines as well - this one focussed on his claws. "Go whining back to your bitch and tell her to send the real dogs next time." He laughed as he easily evaded another enraged slice. "I'll kill them, too."

"Do you think that I want to do this, Spike?" his attacker growled at him and Spike's eyebrows shot up.

"Kieran?"

"Who the hell else would it be, asshole?" Kieran sighed, still swiping at Spike who evaded his attacks and retaliated with half hearted ones of his own which Kieran avoided.

"So you did make it to the Island," Spike said. "How many of you?"

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," Kieran grunted. "This sucks. We should be fighting the fucking Camarilla, not each other."

"Tell that to our packleaders," Spike growled back.

"Not their fault either," Kieran informed him, managing to connect with a shallow slice to Spike's leg. "The higher ups want us to fight it out."

"Don't they realize they're culling their own fighting force?" Spike demanded, blocking Kieran's next attack and shooting a blade into the Gangrel's shoulder, slicing off a good section of skin.

"Survival of the fittest," Kieran said, then, when Spike's next attack cut off his hand, yelped. "Fuck it, I'm outta here."

Spike held back as Kieran ran for the door, then chased after him to make it look good. "Don't come back, Kieran," he yelled after the disappearing Gangrel. "Or I will kill you!"

"And I you!" came Kieran's reply faintly. Spike turned back and headed up the stairs towards the thumps and yells coming from the top floor.

Salem had reacted to the attack instinctively, by using Celerity to get out of the way, then forming his shadows around him, and hardening them into something close to body armour. This was a trick that he had worked out himself, and the shadow blades he formed in his hands were his as well.

"What the hell!" his attacker hissed when whatever he was using bounced harmlessly off of Salem's body.

"Surprise," Salem quipped at him. "Care to fight me still or were you leaving?"

"Oh, fuck," the voice moaned. "I had to get Salem."

"At your service," Salem, never taking his eyes off the dimly lit man, gave a slight bow. "It's Todd, isn't it?"

"Shit, shit, shit," Todd cursed. "They said you were in Nova fucking Scotia."

"Surprise again, Pander," Salem grinned. "Now, do I kill you or do you run like a rabbit?"

"If I run, Shelley will kill me," Todd groaned hopelessly.

"Then I guess you'd better fight," Salem told him viciously and swung his shadow blade at the Pander, carefully lopping off an ear.

Todd didn't stand a chance. He was younger and although he was an adequate fighter, he was no match for the finely trained Salem. Salem whittled at him like wood, carving bits of the other vampire off. Todd fought as long as he could, but his head joined the rest of the pieces just before Spike burst into the room.

Salem dissolved his shadows and looked down at the bleeding bits. He felt happy that he'd won, but there was a strange sadness as well. It wasn't the same as taking out an enemy of the Camarilla. This was a fellow Sabbat and not only that, this was someone Salem had played games with, hung around with.

For a brief moment, he hated the sect he was a member of.

"You got him?" Spike's voice was overly loud in the room. "Todd?"

"Yeah," Salem replied, turning away.

"Good job," Spike nodded with satisfaction. "There's no one else in the house. Kieran attacked me, but I sliced him up good and he took off. You got Todd, so that leaves the one Nos that fights - what's her name, Leah - and Rob, the Malkie."

"And Shelley herself," Salem reminded him. "We'd better get back to Drake."

"Yeah," Spike nodded and climbed out of the window, scooting along the branch then dropping out of the tree. "Leave the pile of blood."

Salem eyed the remains of the Pander sadly for a moment, then followed Spike out of the tree.

"It's working perfectly, my pet."

The shadows twisted and turned as just on the outside a large Maine Coon cat prowled, meowing in response to the voice within. "Already they are at each other's throats. I should have thought of this ages ago, perhaps when that doddering old fool was still powerful enough to give Meer a good fight. That was over too soon - I got hardly any pleasure out of it." One shadow extended out to stroke the Maine Coon, causing the cat to arch his back and purr. "This will prove much more enlightening, eh, my precious? So close in power, so easily swayed. I shall enjoy this immensely."

The cat continued to arch and purr under the gentle and expert ministrations of the shadow.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Shelley crept carefully to the window of the restaurant, her eyes darting everywhere. Drake was not far away, ostensibly watching the next ferry coming towards the Island, but in reality, he was watching everything as well. He seemed to be alone, but, Shelley thought to herself, with that damned Nos Maggie in the group teaching everyone Obfuscate, the entire pack could be nearby.

She didn't think so, though. Salem and Spike had come by and headed off in the opposite direction after looking through the restaurant, obviously to check the rest of the Island. They hadn't seen her hiding in the freezer. Shortly after that, the three girls in Drake's pack, Giselle, Kelly and Jez had arrived and started around the Island the other way. Well, Shelley's own pack was on the Island already, planted in the most likely places if this happened.

"You're getting predictable, Drake old boy," Shelley grinned viciously to herself. "Time you were retired for good."

Drake's eyes turned her way and Shelley ducked behind a fat mortal. It wasn't the best way to hide from Auspex, but it could sometimes fool the unready. Drake, while looking carefully, obviously felt that Shelley couldn't have gotten to the Island, so he missed her.

_Stupid fool._

If plans went well, Shelley thought to herself, her own pack would at least slow down, if not stop entirely, Drake's pack. She hadn't known who would search which way, although she had guessed correctly on the groups. Hell, it was common knowledge that Spike and Salem were joined at the hip. If he hadn't gone to Nova Scotia with Maggie, he would be with Spike. That left the girls and Dennis and Drake had to leave someone to guard his precious Haven. Logically, that would be Dennis. Unfortunately, she had sent the very young Todd with Kieran in anticipation of the girls going his way - Jez had a serious crush on the handsome Gangrel and would have had trouble fighting him. Leah and Rob were powerful and the two of them worked well together - they should have been able to handle Salem and Spike. Now, Shelley didn't know what would happen, she only hoped that Todd and Kieran would get lucky shots in.

Three hours passed before the impatient Shelley heard through the Vaulderie blood link with her pack that Spike and Salem had arrived. Sending a mental "Kill them", she waited, more impatient than before, for indication from Leah. She wanted all of Drake's pack occupied when she made her move.

Three minutes later, she had it. Shutting off her pack from her mind so as to concentrate, she slipped out of the restaurant and started towards Drake. Her hands were empty, as the power she controlled would stop him in his tracks without need of weapons. She had to get close enough to touch him, though. And she had to do it without him seeing her.

She almost made it.

A child, a mere mortal child, ran into her legs and fell to the ground wailing from the bump. Drake's head spun to see and his eyes met Shelley's.

"Bitch!" Drake yelled and, using his own Celerity, sped to one side.

"Damn it!" Shelley hissed and pushed the child aside with one hand, exerting her power to twist the child's face askew. The wailing increased and Shelley took off after Drake.

"Come and get me," Drake taunted, keeping enough ahead of her so that she could see and hear him, but not catch him. Shelley didn't command the power of Celerity in high enough strength to reach him - she only hoped she could take him when he finally stopped to fight.

A sense of utter loss broke through the Vaulderie link with her pack and she stumbled slightly. Someone she had shared blood with had met Final Death and Shelley didn't have time to mourn. Putting on a burst of speed, she surprised Drake and landed on his back, throwing him to the ground.

She had time to create a bulge of flesh in his back before Drake powerfully bucked and threw her off. Shadows reached for her, but Shelley evaded them, trying to get close enough to Drake to finish the job.

"I wondered when you'd show up," Drake growled at her. "I knew you were here."

"You lie, prick," Shelley snapped at him, pulling one of her throwing knives from her belt and whipping it at him. Her aim was excellent and only Drake's speed kept it from being a serious injury. It landed in his shoulder with a meaty thunk and Drake hissed in pain. Yanking it out, he threw it at Shelley, narrowly missing her head.

"Such language," Drake taunted, evading the next knife throw and managing to get a shadow around her ankle. "Hardly fitting for a lady."

"Damn good thing I'm not a lady then!"

A figure came running into view and Shelley grinned at seeing her lieutenant Kieran. Her grin faltered when he ran on by though, bleeding heavily from several aggravated wounds including a missing hand. Hot on his tail were Spike and Salem, who stopped when they reached Drake. Another set of shadows reached out towards Shelley and Spike crouched, ready to spring at her.

"Give up yet, bitch?" Drake inquired, snagging with his shadow around her ankle and nearly knocking her off balance.

Shelley, knowing that she was overmatched with the three of them, threw her last knife at Drake's face. He dodged enough to allow the knife only to slice his cheek off and his shadow vanished as his control was interrupted. Shelley evaded Salem's shadows easily and took off towards the docks. A ferry was just boarding to leave. Spike let out a bestial howl and sprang after her, his speed outmatching hers.

Shelley looked back, real terror in her heart, and stopped just as Spike drew close enough to grab her. With a snarl, she latched both hands onto his face, exerting her power. Spike howled again, this time in utter pain, as Shelley twisted the skin and bones under her hands into a grotesque mask. He dropped away from her, crying out and falling to the ground with his hands covering his face. Shelley kicked him in the side once then turned and sprang for the ferry. Three feet from the dock, she leapt and landed sprawled on the deck. Kieran helped her to her feet and Shelley looked back at the Island rapidly distancing itself.

She had lost her entire pack this night, for she had no doubts that Rob and Leah would not be spared. Kieran alone remained and although she should kill him for running, she couldn't. The battle had been lost, but the war was nowhere near won.

Shelley let out a screech of pure hatred then crumpled to the ground to grieve.

"OW!" Spike yelped as Giselle coolly sorted out the twisted, mangled features of his face. The Brujah struggled but with both Salem and Drake sitting on him, he could do nothing. "Damn it, bitch, that hurts!"

"Of course it does," Giselle crooned, her fingers slowly teasing the skin to it's correct position. "There is always pain involved in artistry."

"Fuckin' get off me!"

"I'm not done yet," Giselle smiled serenely into his angry face. "You may get up when I'm done."

Drake and Salem, side by side on Spike's body, exchanged amused glances. Giselle was taking her own sweet time with this, flesh crafting being something she truly enjoyed doing. She had moved smartly enough on Drake's back, since the packleader wouldn't stand for her playing, but with a fellow packmate, especially one who was lower in rank, Drake didn't give a damn what she did as long as Spike was eventually returned to his normal self.

Drake looked around. His pack had escaped serious injury from Shelley's, and the girls had brought down Rob and Leah fairly handily, although it was going to take quite awhile before Kelly's leg grew back. Leah the Nosferatu had had a razor sharp sword and a lucky blow had taken off Kelly's leg just below the knee. The red-haired Lasombra was sitting on a couch wrapping a piece of cloth around the stump, sucking from a large mortal they had caught for her as she did. Kelly was out of action for several nights and it was actually for the better, Drake nodded to himself. He had a permanent guard for the haven now although his Childe wasn't happy about it.

"So that took care of Shelley, right?" Salem inquired over Spike's yelps and struggles.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Drake mused. "I doubt it though. Even with her pack basically gone, she's not going to quit. Although she's going to have some problems." He grinned viciously.

"Such as?" Salem pressed.

"Such as if I survive this whole thing and her pack is still only her and Kieran, my territory is going to expand."

"Oooo..." Salem let out a breath of anticipation. "Hadn't thought about that. Can you hold turf that big though?"

"If we add more packmembers, I can hold anything," Drake grinned at him. "And adding more packmembers is as easy as turning that mortal Kelly is sucking on into a vampire, then clunking him."

Salem nodded, then frowned, thinking. "You know, there's an idea in that."

"Which is?"

"Cannon fodder," Salem said slowly, working it out in his mind. "If we create whole shitloads of vamps, we can send them to fight the packs instead of putting the real members into danger. Any that are left standing at the end can become new members."

"What an utterly vicious and nasty idea, Salem," Drake advised him. "It's a great one. I had been thinking about it, actually, I just got a little sidetracked when Shelley made her move so soon."

"So?" Salem leaned forward eagerly. "Do we do it, oh gracious leader?"

"Yes," Drake whacked Salem's head, tumbling the younger man off Spike. "Call me that again and I'll let Giselle play with your face next."

Giselle looked up at the mention of her name and smiled, reaching a hand towards Salem. "Want a third eye like Maggie, Salem?"

Salem prudently back peddled out of her reach. "Nope, that's ok. I'll pass."

"Suit yourself," Giselle went back to work on Spike who had given up struggling and only whimpered beneath her hands.

Drake patted Spike's stomach then climbed off him. Giselle was just about done and after a moment, she let the Brujah up. He climbed to his feet and groaned his way over to the couch next to Kelly. Pulling the semi-conscious mortal away from her, he sunk his fangs into it and drained it dry.

"Ahhhhh," he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "That's better."

"That was MY snack!" Kelly pouted, shoving the corpse away from her.

"You snooze you lose, babe," Spike leered at her and, picking up the corpse, tossed it at Dennis. The Malkavian screeched and smacked it away, letting it tumble onto Lucy.

"Hey!"

Lucy picked up the corpse and ripped off one of the arms, tossing the rest aside. Striking a fencing pose, he jabbed it towards Salem. "En Guard!"

"Look out Salem!" Jez shouted from the side with a grin. "He's armed!"

She got several pillows whipped at her for that comment and Salem ripped the other arm off of the corpse for himself. Taking a stance that made a mockery of Lucy's proper pose, he crossed the limb with Lucy's and the two fenced it out for a while. Salem got beaten badly, Lucy managing to disarm him and jab the stiffening fingers into his chest.

"Surrender!" Lucy announced dramatically.

"Never surrender!" Salem yelled and grabbed the arm, tossed it aside and pounced on Lucy himself. The Ventrue gave as good as he got, but Salem was the better hand to hand fighter and eventually ended up sitting on his chest, pinning him down.

"Now who's surrendering?" he grinned into Lucy's face. Lucy stuck out his tongue. "Don't stick it out unless you plan to use it, Luce."

"You wish," Lucy retorted and heaved Salem off.

"All right, children," Drake stepped in front of Salem as the younger man eagerly headed for Lucy again. "You can play later. We've got to go scope out the competition."

"We scoped Shelley somethin' fierce," Spike grinned, coming up beside them.

"That we did," Salem grinned back and gave him a high five. "Who's next?"

Drake mused for a moment. "Let's check out Jesse and Ysabel. Make sure they're concentrating on themselves rather than on me. Lucy, you're on. Take Dennis as back up."

Lucy the Ventrue nodded and the rest of the pack, who were all for making cannon fodder, minus Kelly who was now guarding the haven, trooped out of the haven and down to the ferry docks. After climbing on board, Salem sidled up closer to Drake.

"Is Kelly enough of a guard?" he inquired. "Even if we leave Dennis at the docks?"

"She'd better be," Drake replied. "Or she'll be dead."

"Dead," Salem repeated the word softly.

"If she can't hold the haven, she's of no use to us," Drake said harshly and moved away. Salem let him go. Drake talked big but he was extremely fond of his Childe and Kelly's death would hit him hard. Salem moved to a quiet corner and opened his trench coat. In an inner pocket, a twitching black nose and a pair of bright black eyes looked out at him.

"Listen, I know Maggie said to stay with me," he told the rat quietly. "But do you think you could gather up some friends and go help guard the haven?"

The rat chittered at him.

"I don't speak rodent, Buzz, you know that," Salem shook his head. "Come on, Maggie didn't know there'd be a war like this. She'd have wanted you to help."

The chittering turned scornful.

"Ok, low blow, I know," Salem grinned. "Come on, rat-face. If the haven gets taken, that stash of cheese Maggie keeps for you will be gone."

Buzz climbed out of the pocket and wormed his way up Salem's chest until he was clinging to his shoulder. Salem turned his head and promptly got his nose bitten.

"Hey!" He swatted at the rat who easily dodged his hand and jumped onto the railing of the ferry. Scurrying along it, Buzz disappeared down the end and Salem, hurrying forward, saw the sleek dark grey shape splash into the water and start swimming for the Island.

"Thanks Buzz!" he yelled, earning himself several curious glances.

Drake looked over at him and gave the slightest nod. Salem didn't respond but inside he smiled. He was still atoning for all the screw-ups he'd produced when he'd first joined the pack and this edged him up a notch. Drake would never acknowledge it further, but it was enough.

"Hey, dude," Spike punched Salem in the arm. "You're bleeding."

"Yeah, Buzz bit me," Salem replied and sent blood to quickly heal the bite. Grabbing Spike's arm, he used the Brujah's sleeve to wipe the blood off.

"Gee thanks, a snack!" Spike grinned and sucked Salem's blood off his jacket. Salem screwed up his face and laughed. "How many are you gonna bite?"

"How many are we allowed to?"

"Hey, dude, it's however many you feel like," Spike snickered. "Although you might wanna pick ones that wouldn't make bad packmembers. It's kinda tradition that whoever is left standing gets to be pack."

Salem nodded and looked at the lights of Toronto rapidly approaching. He'd pick carefully, but he'd also pick quickly. It was imperative that Drake win, because frankly, Salem had absolutely no intention of meeting final death.

"Yo! Rat! Get your slimy ass out here, will ya? We got places to go, things to see, people to do... wait. Scratch that. Reverse it."

The sewer grate pushed aside and a short, scrawny street person oozed out. Dressed in rejects from the Goodwill centre, it scratched at an utterly filthy stomach and let out a clearly fabricated belch.

"Spiral," Rat nodded politely. "Always a pleasure, you twisted fuck."

The man facing the street person grinned with gap-toothed precision. His clothing was nearly as strange as Rat's, although not nearly as dirty. The tuxedo had seen better days and better figures to rest on, and the top hat almost - bobbled - on his head instead of sitting flat. After a crafty look around, the man doffed his hat and bowed, releasing a long thin strand of skin that fell like a Slinky from the top of his head. The spiral it created when extended had given the man his name and the fact that he hadn't convinced a Tzimisce to fix it, paid mute testimony to his clan.

"Put your hat back on," Rat said patiently, scratching at her ass this time and farting. "You'll scare the nice Camarilla."

"Yes, Mistress," Spiral whined, replacing his hat then laughing. "So what shall we do this fine evening?"

"Heard anything from the Bishop arena?" Rat inquired, looking around. They were just on the edge of Scarborough. Still theoretically in Toronto, but close enough to Camarilla territory to make open conversations sometimes dangerous. Not that she cared if the toys heard her and Spiral. They couldn't do a damn thing about it and if they were stupid enough to come this close to the border then they deserved everything they got. It could be dangerous, yes, but usually only for the Camarilla.

"Negatory," Spiral intoned. "Although the night is young. Rumour has it that Drake is the leading contender, Shelley is the lightweight coming up fast on the outside and Ysabel and Jesse are too busy snapping at each other to play ball."

Rat blinked, sorting this out. "You've got your sports mixed again, pal. So Drake is the favourite, eh? Figures. He's got the biggest pack since the Blood Ravens split."

"They did?" Spiral looked alertly at her, the effect spoiled when one of his eyes wandered off to check out a passing stray cat. "How could Meer let them do that?"

"All right, you're not THAT insane," Rat sighed. "Meer is Archbishop, Christine is the new packleader and Windsor and two others split off to form their own little pack between Christine's territory and yours. You knew that."

"I knew that," Spiral agreed, bobbing his head eagerly causing his hat to fall off. Rat grabbed the exposed strand of skin and tied it into a slightly lopsided bow. "There. Now put your hat back on and make sure it's on tight or I'll use the hat pin again."

"Oh, would you?" Spiral's eyes brightened. "Please?"

Rat grinned and produced a grimy skewer from her pocket. Jamming Spiral's top hat back on, she screwed up her face, took aim and poked the hat pin not only through the hat but through the top layer of skin on Spiral's skull.

"OW!"

"What, you'd forgotten how much that hurts?" Rat laughed. "Surprise."

"Doesn't hurt," Spiral pouted. "Feels yummy."

"Yummy?"

Spiral turned away and began stalking the stray cat who had chosen the fence to take a bath. Alarmed at Spiral's crafty yet noisy approach, the cat took off and Spiral started after it.

"Get back here!" Rat ordered and Spiral obligingly recreated his movements in reverse until he was standing next to Rat again. "Don't run off, we've got work to do."

"Work?" Spiral repeated in dismay then broke into an extremely off key song. "Iiiiiiiiiii don't wanna work, I wanna bang on de drums all day."

"Shut up," Rat told him absently, pushing on her bottom lip with a thoughtful finger. "What are we going to do about the Bishop race?"

"Nothing," Spiral replied immediately. "'Cause there's nothing we can do. I don't want to run for Bishop, do you?"

"What, and have Drake turn me into ground beef? I don't think so, thanks."

"Buuuuuuut," Spiral drew out the word, then stopped.

"But?"

Spiral let out a high pitched giggle and began dancing around pointing his finger at Rat. "You said a bad word! You said butt!"

Rat rolled her eyes and stooped down to pick up a stout stick. Heaving it up, she swung and connected with the side of Spiral's head, knocking the loopy Malkavian to the ground. Spiral blinked rapidly, then shook his head hard.

"Houston," he intoned in a perfect imitation of Tom Hanks, "we have a problem."

Rat laughed and hauled him to his feet. "Come on, Spiral. Let's go send our packs to play then you and I can visit the Bishop contenders."

"Over the hills and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go!" Spiral carolled, doing a two step down the street. "Will she give us cookies, do you think, Rat?"

"I doubt it," Rat said. "We're only going to listen. I want some information."

"You always want information," Spiral noted, flipping to a handstand and walking on his hands beside her.

"Naturally," Rat grinned down at him. "I'm a Nosferatu."

"Did you know that you're upside down?" Spiral inquired seriously, hopping on one hand for awhile.

Rat sighed, shook her head and led him towards the park nearby. Their combined packs, mostly Nosferatu and Malkavian, were sent to a nearby Camarilla rest home to play, then Spiral and Rat hopped onto a bus, completely nauseating the other passengers. Settling in, they sped off towards the subway that would take them into downtown Toronto.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Jesse ignored the grumbling of his small pack. At least, he ignored them until one of them bounced onto his lap and demanded an accounting of why they were letting "that utter cow Ysabel" run loose in their territory.

"Get off me, Billy," Jesse shoved the child off. Billy was a tough little boy, Embraced when he was six over three hundred years previously. It irked the little Brujah to no end that he was so small, so he'd honed his physical skills to the point where he was one of the most vicious bastards in the Sabbat. Billy was a bully and even dared push his pack leader around. In fact, the only reason that Jesse still held that position, in Billy's personal opinion, was that Billy himself didn't feel like taking on the responsibilities.

"So why are ya lettin' her in? Huh?" Billy demanded, lashing out with a fist at a Pander who wandered too close. The Pander ducked and cursed, causing the little Brujah to laugh.

"Because if we get involved in a fight with her, the other packleaders will think I want to go for Bishop," Jesse replied moodily.

"So why DON'T you try for Bishop?" Billy argued. "Better than bein' a coward and sittin' here on yer ass."

Jesse roared to his feet, towering over the boy and glaring down. "Is that a challenge?"

Billy backed down, again, he thought, only because he didn't want to take responsibility. "No, I'm just makin' a point."

"Go make your point somewhere else," Jesse growled at him, pushing the Brujah away. "You're bothering me."

"Maybe it's time someone did," Billy muttered, stalking away.

"What was that?" Jesse asked ominously.

"Nothin'!"

Billy slipped out of the haven as soon as Jesse was distracted, his leaving noticed but not commented on by anyone else. He wasn't exactly well liked, although the Vaulderie made sure everyone was warm and fuzzy towards him. No one was going to beat him to a pulp, but no one was going to mention to Jesse that he'd left the safety of the house, either.

Wandering down the street, Billy easily avoided the few mortals that dared to walk outside after sunset. Because of his cherubic blond looks and young age, many mortals made the mistake of thinking he was lost and tried to talk to him. Or worse, tried to take him to the police. Or worse still, tried to take him home for their own purposes. It wasn't that he couldn't take care of himself, he enjoyed the snacks obtained this way, but it was a nuisance when he was trying to get somewhere quickly.

Heading towards Yonge Street, Billy kept an eye out for other vampires. A stray dog barked at him once and Billy growled back so fiercely that the dog yiped and went silent. Shortly after the dog incident, he saw his first vampire and it wasn't someone from his pack. What was more, Billy knew who it was and knew exactly what to do. Looking around, he spotted a mortal male out walking and he smiled to himself.

Putting on a woebegone face, Billy waited until the man was close enough then sat down on the ground and began whining. Sure enough, the man came over.

"You lost?" the man inquired, his ruddy face curious.

"I want my mommy!" Billy demanded, kicking the ground with his legs. It was a good ploy.

"Now, now," the man crouched down to be on Billy's level. "It's ok, little fellow. We'll find your mommy."

"Now?" Billy looked up, artfully childish. His eyes darted towards the vampire who had seen them but wasn't paying much attention.

"Of course," the man stood up and held out his hand. Billy scrambled up and held up his arms.

"Carry me?"

"Oh, now, surely a big boy like you can walk?" The man hesitated.

"CARRY ME!" Billy had discovered that sheer volume worked really well. It didn't fail this time either. The man shushed him then lifted Billy into his arms. Billy snuggled in close and put his head on the man's shoulder.

The man began walking and Billy knew that he was heading towards the police station. It was where every Good Samaritan tried to take him. Peeking ahead, he saw the vampire scouting around the corner, and then coming towards them. Billy waited until the vampire was nearly on them before he dug his fangs into the mortal's neck and ripped out his throat, spraying the blood everywhere. The mortal dropped him and Billy bounced onto his feet waiting for the action to take place.

Sure enough, it did. The vampire, sprayed with the toppling mortal's blood, went berserk. Fangs became prominent in the vampire's face and his eyes went red as he lunged at the toppled mortal and began sucking the blood out voraciously. Billy stood back and laughed as the vampire scrabbled on the ground, frantically licking every single drop of blood he could get. The frenzy continued even after the blood was gone and the vampire leapt at Billy who was stained with it.

"Down boy!" Billy commanded, snapping his leg viciously into the vampire's knee, shattering the bones within. The vampire howled and fell, scrambling to his feet and lunging again. Billy grinned and let loose two hard punches to the other's face and two fast kicks to the stomach and pelvis. The vampire went down again, screaming. This time, he couldn't move enough to get at the laughing little Brujah.

"You looked pretty damn funny licking the pavement, Rod baby," Billy teased, deliberately kicking the downed vampire's shattered kneecap to listen with pleasure to another howl of pain. "Where's your bitch mistress?"

"On my turf," Rod glared at Billy, holding his throbbing knee. "You stupid little shit! I was coming to offer a truce between Ysabel and Jesse until the Bishop trials are over! Ysabel doesn't want in on it either."

"Really?" Billy frowned, then a wash of something - anger? fear? - rolled over him. He stopped thinking rationally. "Fucking liar you are, asshole! You were sent to spy on us so that you know our plans!"

"What?" Rod's head started shaking. "No, Billy, I'm here on truce. Ysabel doesn't want to get involved."

"She does too," Billy hissed. "And you're just here to spy! Bastard!"

Rod cowered at the waves of anger rolling from Billy, but he didn't have to suffer it long. Billy jumped him, smashing, kicking, biting, and soon there wasn't much left of Rod but a bloody pile of ash. Billy scattered the ashes, kicking and swearing, before jumping the dead corpse of the mortal, ripping parts off and flinging them everywhere.

When there was nothing left but tiny bits and pieces, Billy stopped and suddenly looked around.

"What?"

He frowned, shook his head and puzzled over exactly what he'd done. Yeah, he hated Ysabel's pack, but to brutally stomp him like that? Billy shook his head again as calm clarity filled it. Rod had come to spy, he was obviously in the right to kill him.

The shredded corpse was lost from his memory as he turned and hightailed it back to the haven to inform Jesse that Ysabel had declared war. And that he, Mighty Billy of the Brujah Clan, had taken out one of the enemy's force.

"No!"

Ysabel's cry rang through the warehouse cellar that she and her pack used as a communal haven. They had all just felt the savage death of their packmember and Ysabel's keen was echoed by the others.

"That fucking prick!" Aris sobbed, slumped onto a couch. She and Rod had been lovers for several decades and this was more of a blow to her than anyone else. "I'll make him pay for this!"

"Aris, we can't," Ysabel started then shook her head. "No, to hell with the Bishop trials! Jesse has gone too far! We've never killed in our feud, only bested to carve out territory. He's taken this beyond the limits."

"I'll eat the bastard who did this," Aris hissed, blood tears streaking her face. "I'll fucking suck his God damned soul!"

The other five members of the pack looked at each other unhappily then the one Nosferatu stepped forward, a frown on her putrid face. "Do you think it was an accident?"

"An accident?" Aris shouted, but was shushed by Ysabel.

"If it was, it was a damn good one," she replied slowly. "Rod didn't just die, he was savagely murdered. You all felt it. I... can't let it go."

"Damn straight you can't," Aris growled, flexing her fingers and baring her fangs.

"I'm not going to!" Ysabel quelled her with a look. "But we have to approach this carefully. I don't want to be Bishop and the information Selina got was that Jesse doesn't want to be either. So why would he kill Rod?"

"Because he's a lowlife scum sucking bastard who doesn't deserve to live," Aris snapped at her.

Ysabel rounded on the six foot tall woman with her fists up. "You will shut the fuck up, Aris, or you will step down as my Lieutenant. Do you understand? This is far more important than Rod's death and you not getting Kissed every night!"

Aris blinked then looked down, her voice lowering and turning conciliatory. "Yeah."

Ysabel sighed. "I know it hurts. It hurts us all. But if we fight Jesse, it's going to bring the attention of Drake and Christine onto us. They'll think we're running for Bishop and they will wipe us out!" She balled her fists. "We aren't strong enough to take on Christine, even with the lesser numbers of the Blood Ravens, let alone take on Drake's Shadow Dragons!"

"He deserves to be punished," Aris grumbled, sniffing and swiping at the blood tears with her sleeve. "Damn it, I've got blood on my silk."

Ysabel held in a small smile. That was more like her Toreador Lieutenant, worrying about the state of her clothing. Aris was grand, and a good fighter as well, but she was still Toreador.

"All right, we've got to have more information," Ysabel decided abruptly. "Selina? Can you contact whomever it is you contact to get some information on this whole thing?"

"I'm on it," Selina saluted, her dry skin rasping as she touched her forehead. "I'll be back as soon as I have something."

"Be quick, Selina," Ysabel almost pleaded. "I want to avoid disaster if I at all can."

Aris grumbled again from her sofa and Ysabel sat down beside her to speak.

Selina the Nosferatu hurried out of the warehouse, pulling up a Mask of a studious young woman. A lot of Nos preferred to make themselves look stunningly beautiful, because they could, but Selina had found that more people were willing to take her seriously if they weren't concerned with the size of her chest. It made information gathering a little easier, especially in the Sabbat. Climbing onto the first bus she saw going west, Selina pulled out her VELO and flicked it on. Rapidly moving through the screens, she opened her email and rechecked past messages. Nothing there to contradict what she'd learned about Jesse's non-involvement in the Bishop race. Pulling out her cell phone, she linked it to the tiny computer and connected to the Internet.

Twenty minutes later, the bus reached the border of Jesse's territory and Selina climbed off. There was still nothing to be found. No one knew anything about the killing other than the fact that it happened and the savage nature of it. Selina sighed and, after sending an email page, disconnected, putting the phone away and sliding the VELO into her pocket. Keeping watch around her carefully, she went to the mall that was her usual meeting spot and Masked a book to read while she sat primly on a bench.

He wasn't long in coming.

"Selina," the rough voice said gravely and Selina smiled up into the face of a grizzled older gentleman dressed nattily in a three piece suit. "I rather thought I would be hearing from you."

"Hello, Basil," she said. "We definitely need to talk."

"Come along then," Basil offered his arm. "We'll use the rooms."

Selina walked with Basil to a nearby alley where, within, lay a sewer grate. After making sure they weren't being followed - both used the sight to search - they disappeared down it and made their way to a small set of rooms that Basil kept apart from his pack's haven. Selina settled into her favourite chair and accepted the bronze goblet of blood Basil gave her with a smile.

"Now," Basil said, sitting down, dropping his Mask and taking a sip of his own blood. "What do you wish to say?"

"As if you don't know," Selina accused him, dropping her own Mask. It was such a relief to be with someone who genuinely didn't care! "Come on, Basil, what was up with killing Rod? You and I have always made sure the pack tension never got to killing point."

Basil sighed. "Unfortunately, that little bastard Billy got out from under the nose of my ghoul. I swear, I would kill him myself if I could."

"Billy did this?" Selina's eyes widened. "I should have expected that. Aris is going to suck him dry, you realise."

"Yes, I rather suspected she would take it badly." Basil mused for a moment. "From what Billy told us, Rod came into our territory as a spy, set to infiltrate and kill us."

"Basil, you know that's not true! Rod was going to offer a truce to Jesse until the Bishop trials are over!" she narrowed her eyes. "Or did Jesse change his mind about entering?"

"Caine's blood, no," Basil shuddered. "We can't stand up to the Blood Ravens or the Shadow Dragons."

"Neither can we!" Selina almost shouted before calming herself. "Ysabel thought there was an understanding that we would lie low, stay on our own turf, and let the rest of the packs battle it out."

"That's what we thought too, until Rod came spying into our territory," Basil replied gloomily.

"He was not spying," Selina reiterated. "Ysabel just wanted to make sure of the agreement. Rod was on a truce mission."

Basil set his goblet aside and steepled his fingers together. "Whom do we believe? Billy tells us one thing, you tell me another. Someone is lying," he met Selina's eyes with steely ones of his own, "and I'd take bets on who it is."

They stared at each other for a moment, before both speaking at once.

"Billy."

Basil nodded. "Yes, the little bastard wasn't happy about Jesse not going for Bishop. His ego makes us out to be the all time heavy weight favourites in the game. It would be just like him to pick a fight with Rod under the pretence of starting a war."

Selina shook her head. "I agree, but I don't think Billy really would have killed him. Hurt him, yes. Torpor, maybe; Caine knows Rella hasn't woken up yet from the last time he met her. But to do a slaughter like that?"

"It's unusual, but then, Billy always has been the original Psycho kid." Basil shrugged. "We're going to have to inform our pack leaders of the truth of this and Jesse can deal with Billy. The kid's fast and strong, but he can't stand up to a Lasombra with a full mad on."

"Agreed," Selina nodded. "I'll tell Ysabel and she'll leash Aris. But once the Bishop race is done, you know that Aris isn't going to pull her punches if she meets up with him."

"That's assuming Jesse leaves anything of the little prick," Basil smiled viciously. "Thanks for clearing that up, Selina, we were getting worried."

Before Selina could answer, a man walked into the room woodenly. Selina jumped and started to stand, but Basil waved her down.

"No, he's mine," the Nosferatu told her. "I use ghouls every once in awhile." He looked at the man. "What do you want?"

"I bring a message from the Arch Bishop," the man intoned woodenly. Selina and Basil sat up straighter, their eyes wide.

"Meer?" Selina breathed. "Quick, what does she want?"

"She wishes to converse with Selina and Basil of the Clan Nosferatu."

Selina gasped and Basil jumped to his feet. "Lead on, idiot! We can't keep the Arch Bishop waiting!"

The ghoul led them out of the sewers and along the street towards one of the hottest nightclubs in the city. Both Nosferatu Masked into their previous shapes as they walked.

"What do you think it could mean?" Selina asked in an undertone. "Why would Meer want to see us?"

"I don't know," Basil replied, his eyes still wide. "It must be important though. She took over my ghoul to send the message."

Selina stopped. "Could it be a trap?"

"Of course not!" Basil scoffed. "We're deep in our own territory, our packs aren't going to hurt us. No one else is thinking about us, they're all too busy trying to be Bishop. It has to be legit."

Selina started walking again, biting her lip. Basil was older than she, so she trusted him more even if they weren't of the same pack. If he said it was all right, it was all right, even if she did have a bad feeling about it.

The ghoul left them at a secluded booth at the back of the bar where they waited with trepidation for Meer, the new Arch Bishop of Southern Ontario, to arrive.

The shadows roiled around the spying glass that showed the nightclub in all it's frantic, blood thumping glory. Like a zoom lens, the glass narrowed in on the booth where the two Masked, but recognizable Nosferatu were sitting.

"Ah, what have we here?" the shadow's owner murmured to the Maine Coon who was sitting watching the glass with a cocked head. "My precious, it looks like rats for dinner."

The cat miaowed and licked its lips, looking up and back into the shadows. There was a dry chuckle and a shadow extended out to tickle the cat's head. The Maine Coon arched and purred, before turning once and settling down again.

"Look, precious one, see the trap that arrives."

Inside the glass, a sultry brunette approached the table and both Nosferatu, looking properly awed, stood up. The shadows chuckled as there appeared to be conversation between them then the sultry brunette turned and indicated the wide, mortal pumping room.

"Yes, yes, my little rats, take the cheese indeed." There was the merest touch of excitement in the guttural voice.

The cat lashed its tail once and watched the glass with a fixated eye. Inside, the two Nosferatu were slowly nodding, looking puzzled as the brunette spoke to them. Finally, they each gave a sharp nod and turned to move into the dancing crowd of oblivious mortals.

"Yessssssss," the voice hissed. "Become pretty for the nice people..."

Both Nosferatu dropped their Masks at the same time and the screaming crowd stampeded away from them. The brunette vanished and there were several trampled injuries and deaths.

"NOW!" the voice announced and a shadow lashed out at the glass, stroking over the forms of the two hideous monsters standing in the nightclub.

On cue, a tall black man stood up with a double barrelled shotgun and fired directly at the two vampires. A cloud of noxious gas rose up with a flash of pure white that made the cat spring away and hiss at the scene. When it cleared, there were several mounds of ash, including two in a cleared centre of the now charred dance floor.

"Bye, bye, little rodents," the voice almost chuckled. "I hope there's cheese in Hell, eh precious?"

The Maine Coon miaowed again then, as the glass went dark, curled up, unconcerned and purring.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Salem surveyed the small brood of Lasombra Childer standing before him. He had taken Spike's advice and tried to choose ones that might make decent Sabbat, but the pickings were fairly slim. Spike got the most, as he went for the denim and leather clad punks who could be found everywhere in the city after dark. Salem tried to be more choosy and had only added seven to the group. But he was fairly proud of them and had decided that any of them would be good. Well, except maybe two, but he'd been tired at the time.

"All right, take your cannon... I mean, Childer," Drake grinned at the pack with their broods. "Go brief them and make sure they get something to eat. Make them understand exactly what the penalties and rewards are in this whole fight."

Salem nodded and led his seven over to a bench in the park. Sitting up on the back of it, he looked them over again.

Two girls, one University student returning home after a party and one who had waited until after dark to walk her dog. Salem licked his lips. He'd never had Rottweiler before, but he'd certainly try it again. There was a fierce flavour in the blood that was quite intoxicating. The third girl was one who had been keeping house for him and Maggie in their Toronto sewer haven, looking after their various pets before they died and generally being a good ghoul. She was the only one who had had exposure to vampires and Salem had thought of her immediately. Four men completed the group; two who had been escorting the student and two who had been furtively making love in a backyard tree house. Salem had grinned, watched the performance, and then applauded heartily before draining and Embracing them both. The three kids in the house to whom the tree house had belonged had made good snacks to build up his blood supply. It was tough work making Childer!

"Ok, listen up," he announced, glaring at one who started to sit down. She immediately stood up again. The two lovers had their arms around each other and were looking nervous. "You are all now vampires. It means you drink blood and I will be getting you some food soon. The whole reason you were brought into existence is to fight. You will be fighting other vampires and chances are, all of you will die." Salem hardened his voice. After all, it was true - probably none of them would survive. "If, on the off chance, however, you are still alive when the fight is over, you will be permitted to remain a vampire and join the Sabbat. Questions?"

One of the two lovers put his hand up tentatively.

"Yes Pinky?" Salem inquired with a cruel smile.

The man tried to blush. "What's the Sabbat?"

"The coolest gang in the world," Salem replied expansively. "The one every Tom, Dick and Lucy wants to be in."

"Are vampires really immortal?" one of the girls asked. Salem looked her over. Other than Ariel, his ghoul turned Childer, this girl was one he sincerely hoped would survive, especially over the others. Short and blonde, there was a small resemblance to Maggie but more than that, she had fought him every inch of the Embrace. The rest of his prospective Childer had succumbed to him in terror. This one, Shannon, had been a wildcat.

"Yes, vampires are really immortal," Salem replied finally. "And if you survive this fight, you will discover that for yourself. Now, since I didn't get to learn all of your names and you all should know each other, we'll do roll call. If I don't like your name, you'll get a new one." He grinned. "Won't that be nice?" He pointed to Ariel. "You're first."

Ariel smiled. "I'm Ariel. I've been Salem's ghoul for about fifty five years and now I'm finally a Lasombra."

"Excuse me?" It was Pinky again. "What's a Lasombra?"

Salem lifted a shadow behind him and smacked the man across the back of his head sending him sprawling. "You're a Lasombra, stupid. It's a vampire Clan. The best vampire Clan."

"Sez you!" Spike yelled from across the park.

"Quit eavesdropping you sack of shit!" Salem roared back.

"Make me!"

Salem wrapped shadows around Spike's body, hauling him to the ground, while both broods of new Childer watched in awe.

"That's something that a Lasombra can do," Ariel informed the others proudly. "Make shadows move."

"Cool!" came the exclamation from most of the others.

Salem looked over at Spike who was struggling fiercely. "Give up?"

"Never!"

"All right, knock it off," Drake strode over and whacked Salem upside the head knocking him to the ground. The shadows around Spike vanished. "You have work to do, asshole."

"Yes, oh high and mighty leader," Salem scrambled to his feet and bowed ludicrously. Drake laughed, shook his head and started towards Spike's group.

"That," Ariel told the others, "was Drake. Our packleader. He's in charge and if he tells you to do something, you do it."

Salem sat down on his bench again and nodded. "Exactly. Although, if I tell you to do something and you don't do it, I get to kill you. In this pack, everything goes by rank. You guys are the lowest. If you fight well and survive, you might have a chance to climb higher in rank."

He reached down and grabbed Ariel by the arm, hauling her up onto the bench beside him. "Ariel here has just risen in rank a little. She gets to sit beside me. Now. Next."

"I'm Shannon Reid," Salem's spitfire said next.

"First names only," Salem informed them. "I'm not interested in your last name, I don't want to get to know you that well. You'll probably be dead within the week."

"Fine, just Shannon then," the girl scowled. "Salem ate my dog."

"He was tasty too," Salem nodded. "And if you survive, you can have another one."

"Gee, thanks."

Salem grinned at her and deliberately licked his lips before looking pointedly at the next man.

"Oh, I'm Andrew," he said hastily. "Me and Luke were just walking Emma home after the party when Salem jumped us."

"I'm Luke," Luke informed everyone then indicated the girl beside him. "This is Emma."

"I can introduce myself, geek," Emma told him. "And I was happy to see Salem."

"You pissed your panties, darling," Salem informed her. "And you begged me not to rape you."

"Which you didn't," Emma smiled tentatively at him. "Thank you."

Salem rolled his eyes again. He knew a crush when he saw one. "Don't waste your time getting attached to me, chick. I'm married."

"It's true," Ariel nodded. "To Maggie."

"Who isn't here and who you will probably never meet," Salem continued. "But rest assured, you could never take her place. Trust me."

Emma looked crushed and stubborn all at once. _Oh well,_ Salem thought, _she'll just have to learn._

"Last but not least," Salem looked at the final two, the lovers. "Don't bother telling me your names, I don't like them already. You have names. You, are Pinky. You, are Perky." He grinned again. "Would you like to tell your brothers and sisters why?"

Both men tried to blush but neither said anything. Salem laughed. "All right, that's the lot of you. As you know, I'm Salem and my rank within the pack is Lieutenant. It means that I am second in command to Drake and the rest of the pack is under me."

"You wish," the green haired Giselle smiled down at him as she stopped nearby with four others around her.

"Hey babe, I'll be under you anytime," Salem leered at her before grinning to his Childer. "This is Giselle. She is the pack priest. It means she does all sorts of wonderful Rituals and things to give you strength and courage. She is also of the Clan Tzimisce." Salem pointed to Pinky. "Pinky, stand up, drop your pants. Giselle, would you be so kind as to give my new Childer a demonstration of why they shouldn't fuck with you unless you ask them to?"

Giselle smiled again and approached Pinky who had nervously done what Salem asked. Reaching down, she took his penis in her hand and, to many cries of pain from Pinky, elongated it between her fingers, and then tied it into a bow. Giving it a pat, she smiled serenely and walked away, her own wide-eyed Childer trailing her.

"Oh, my God," Perky breathed as Pinky desperately tried to put his penis back to normal. "She... she..."

"It's called flesh crafting," Salem informed them. "Don't piss her off. That's mild to what I've seen her do."

Pinky had pulled his pants up and was sitting huddled next to his lover who had his arms around him. Salem eyed the two of them. He was regretting his hasty choice of them and resolved to make sure that they didn't survive.

"Come on, then, let's go meet the rest of the pack so you'll know who's who," Salem climbed to his feet. "Then we'll find you some dinner."

Draping one arm over Ariel and his other arm over Shannon, Salem headed towards Spike's large group.

Shelley sat in her haven with Kieran at her side, brooding. She had no desire to be out of the Bishop fight completely and she was not stupid enough to think that Drake would leave her alone. No, he would come after her and he would kill her. It behoved her to build her pack again and the only way she could do that was by making Childer.

Shelley hated making Childer. She hated doing the Creation Rites, she hated change. She just wanted to run with her pack and have a good time like she'd always done.

She had no choice. Unless she wanted a pack full of Gangrel, she had to make Childer.

"Do you want me to go out and find cannon fodder?" Kieran asked tentatively. His packleader's mood was iffy, as she grieved for the ones she'd lost. Too, the fact that he had run from the fight made his position precarious. Kieran was fairly certain that if Shelley hadn't needed him so desperately, he would be dead.

"I hate this," Shelley growled.

"I know," Kieran replied. "But we need to build the pack. Quickly. If we're going to have any chance of survival, we need to build the pack up."

"Don't you think I know that?" Shelley lashed out at him with her fist. Kieran took the blow stoically. Shelley sagged back into her chair. "All right. Go get us some suitable mortals."

Kieran headed out. Making mass Childer was a pain in the ass. It would be better to subjugate other vampires and bring them into the pack. Kieran thought about taking down Windsor and his little group of three, but decided against it. Mortals would be the way to go for now and Kieran knew just the place to get them. Climbing onto his motorcycle, he headed for the nearest Goth bar.

The bouncer let him in, of course. Kieran didn't even have to show his fangs, he was so well known here. All of Shelley's pack had been regulars - Rob had loved the place, changing his appearance from Goth to Glamboy, to whatever else he felt like almost on a nightly basis. Now only Kieran and Shelley were left. Kieran shook his head briefly to stave off the sorrow and entered the darkness of the club.

The music was loud and heavy and only Kieran's sorrow and mission kept him from joining the dancing. Instead, he went over to the DJ booth and slipped inside.

"Hey man," the DJ grinned at him. He was a ghoul of Shelley's. "Good to see ya! Whatcha wanna dance to?"

"Actually, I need to make an announcement," Kieran replied. "Shut the music down and give me the mike."

"Hey, sure, man," the DJ nodded, hitting a button that switched the speakers from the stereo to the microphone. "Hey assholes, listen up! Got a friend here who needs to make an announcement."

The DJ handed Kieran the mike.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Kieran spoke slowly and clearly. "I have a proposition for all of you. But only some will be accepted. I'm looking for daring, adventurous people who can fight. I'm not talking stylized fighting here, I'm talking down and out 'let's kill the bastard before he kills me' fighting. If you think you can do it and you want in on the coolest gang in the world, meet on the northbound platform at King in fifteen minutes."

Kieran handed the mike back and the DJ spoke into it, his eyes wide. "Listen, guys, you don't know this guy the way I do. This gang he talked about? It's a chance to live forever, if you know what I mean. I'm joining myself." He cranked the music up and Kieran nodded.

"Thanks," Kieran said quietly. "You will be welcome of course. Shelley's too upset right now to have reminded me about you."

"Why?" the DJ frowned. "What happened?"

Kieran sighed and leaned against the door. "Long story, but to put it in a nutshell, out of the whole pack, only Shelley and I are left."

The DJ's eyes widened. "What? How?"

"Fight with another pack," Kieran said, running a hand through his hair. "That's why I'm here. We're rebuilding the pack."

"You're turning people into...?"

"Yes," Kieran nodded. "I'll be honest with you though, we're making cannon fodder. Only the ones who survive to the end of the current fight will remain in the pack. Obviously."

"Obviously," the DJ agreed. "Big fight going on then? What's it all about?"

"I'm not repeating myself," Kieran told him flatly. "Be on the platform if you want to learn."

"Oh, I'll be there," the DJ promised and Kieran left the booth. Several people converged on him but when they got a good look at the scowl on his face, they backed off. Kieran held the scowl until he was outside then let it relax. He knew he looked vicious and it was the only way to stop the questions that were guaranteed to come after that announcement. Debating whether or not to go back and get Shelley, Kieran opted for calling her on his cell phone on the way to the platform.

She was there already. "You made an announcement?"

"Yes," Kieran told her as he walked up to her. "We should get hordes of people. We can pick and choose."

"If we had the time, I'd take them all," Shelley said glumly, looking at the platform filling up with people. "Overwhelm Drake and everyone else with sheer numbers."

Kieran snorted. "We're going to need half of these kine for food."

"At least," Shelley nodded. "All right, let's get them to the warehouse and we'll sort them by fighting ability. The ones who can fight become vampires. The ones who can't, become food."

"Well Holmes?" Rat inquired of the Malkavian crouched beside her in the park. "What is your take on this highly volatile situation?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson," Spiral intoned, a deerstalker hat and meerschaum pipe appearing in his Mask. It would have been more realistic if the pipe hadn't been on his head and the hat in his mouth. "With obvious treachery done to their information sources, both packs seek vengeance for wrongs committed. Both are gearing for war and it's a clear case of might versus might with no certainty in it anywhere."

Rat groaned at the pun. "So since neither Selina nor Basil returned, each packleader believes that the other ambushed their Nos as a prelude to war."

"Weird," Spiral scratched his head, the long dangling flap bobbing over his face. "We know that neither one wants any part of the Bishop race."

"Correct," Rat nodded. "Which means that someone somewhere else is tampering."

Spiral looked up alertly. "Tampering? As in…?"

"Yes, 'as in'," Rat agreed. "Someone's playing mind games and forcing the two of them into battling each other."

"But why?"

Rat shrugged. "Who knows? For profit? To eliminate the competition? For fun?"

Spiral drew four stick figures into the dirt before them, stabbing each one as he named them. "Christine. Shelley. Brujah-Boy. Drake."

Rat nodded again. "And out of those, who do you think would have the power to do this kind of mind fucking from a distance?"

Spiral frowned and stared for a long moment, before finally erasing all of them. "None."

"By Jove, Holmes, you're getting smarter every day," Rat wisecracked. "You're right though. Not even Maggie has the power to do this, even if she wasn't away in Nova Scotia."

Spiral looked up, genuinely puzzled. "But who then? Who would arrange to have Billy attack, then have the power to take out both Nos?"

Rat paced for a moment. "It doesn't make sense. Whoever it is has to be very powerful."

"An Elder?"

"Entirely possible. But I thought I knew all the Elders in this area. Meer being the oldest."

Spiral blinked. "Could Meer be doing this?"

Rat grimaced. "If she is, she's pretty stupid."

"Maybe all that new power went to her head?"

"All right, so we agree that she's stupid, but I don't think she's stupid enough to jeopardise her brand spanking new position like this. No, this whole think smacks of outside influence. But from where?"

"That, Holmes, is what we have to find out."

Rat Masked to a cleaner appearance, although she still had that 'street person' look to her. "Come on, let's go slumming into some other territories. See what we can discover."

Spiral jumped to his feet and started to follow her out of the park they were in, and then stopped. "Rat?"

Rat turned, surprised. "What?"

"I just had another thought." The Malkavian scratched at his head. "What if it isn't an Elder Sabbat doing this?"

Rat stared at him. "Explain."

Spiral's eyes grew round. "What if it's the Camarilla using this Bishop race as an opportunity to take over?"

Rat sat down on the ground abruptly as this new thought coursed through her mind.

"That would not be good," she said finally. "That would not be good at all."

Spiral joined her on the sidewalk. "Maybe we should warn somebody?"

Rat thought about it then slowly shook her head. "No, let's see what evidence we can find first before we start ringing the alarm bells. Meer isn't going to believe us if all we have are vague suspicions."

"Want to go to Scarborough?"

Rat climbed to her feet. "I think we'd better. If they are the ones controlling this, we're in a hell of a lot more trouble than I originally thought."


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Drake looked around at his augmented pack gathered before him. The Embracing had gone well and his new pack of more than eighty vampires was going to keep him alive.

He hoped.

"Listen up," he said a voice slightly louder than normal. The assembled vampires shut up immediately, proving that the charter pack had done their jobs with instructions. "I shouldn't have to introduce myself and none of you should ever have to speak to me directly. Go through your Sires if you need to tell me anything. Right now though, listen carefully while I explain who and what you all are."

Drake caught Salem's eye and the younger Lasombra moved forward to stand beside him. A second glance and Spike came to Drake's other side.

"I will, however, introduce these two as some of you may not have been able to put name to face. On my right is Salem. He is Lieutenant of this Pack. Second in Command and when he gives you an order, you will obey it or suffer the consequences. I should point out that consequences don't mean standing in the corner with a dunce cap on your head. They mean your immediate and final death. No jury, no judge, just execution."

Salem grinned at everyone and made a wet 'snickering' noise as he drew a finger across his throat.

"On my left is Spike. He is Paladin of this pack, the War Leader and he deals with strategy and placement of the troops in order to ensure that we are victorious with as few casualties as possible. As with Salem and myself, if he gives you an order, you will follow it or you will instantly become one of our casualties."

Spike just grinned without Salem's theatrics.

"Now, on to who you all are." Drake paused for a moment, sweeping his gaze across the listening crowd. "You are what we refer to as cannon fodder. Or, if you're a Star Trek fan, a 'red shirt'. This means that your sole purpose is to die so that one of the real pack can live. Does anyone have a problem with that?" Before a few hands could be raised, Drake continued. "Because if you do, come up here and we'll kill you right now."

The shuffling in the crowd stopped immediately. Drake grinned. "I'm so glad that you're all copasetic with your lot in life."

Salem pointed to Ariel who was sitting with the others. "Ariel, tell everybody why it's better if they fight really hard in the upcoming war."

"Besides to not die?" Ariel grinned at him. "It's because if you manage to live through this whole escapade, you'll become real pack with all the rights and privileges therein. That's the true reward for not dying. The right to be in the greatest Sabbat pack in the world!"

A cheer, albeit a ragged one, went up from the crowd and Drake turned to Salem with a raised eyebrow.

"You just Embraced her the other night?"

"Yes," Salem nodded proudly. "But she's been a ghoul for about fifty five years. She's heard all the stories from Maggie and I and is a true believer in the superiority of the Shadow Dragons."

"With you and Maggie pumping her full of stories about us, how can she not be?" Drake chuckled. "Well, maybe she'll survive this."

"She's got a better chance than the others," Salem agreed. "We'll have to wait and see how well she fights."

"You've been training her?"

"As a ghoul, no, but I think Maggie was bored once when I was away and taught her some stuff."

"We shall see indeed then," Drake looked Ariel over as the new Lasombra whispered to a bright looking girl beside her. "I like the looks of her."

"So did we when we first ghouled her," Salem smiled fondly. He really did like Ariel, quite a lot. Oh, nothing like what he felt for Maggie, but Ariel had been 'his' for over fifty years and he found her an excellent substitute when Maggie was away. He made a mental note to try and ensure that she survived if he could at all help it.

"Listen up again," Drake raised his voice once more. "Time for some rules about the war we'll be in to within a very short time. Spike?"

Spike cleared his throat. "You are here to fight. You aren't here to play at being a vampire, or to pretend to be Blade or Lestat or any of the other fictional characters that you may know of. You are here to get down and dirty with another person just like you who is probably just as old and has the exact same mission. You are to kill or be killed. That's the long and short of it. If you kill your enemy, you find another enemy to try and kill. If you are killed, you're not going to be missed, believe me. We don't know and we have no intention of knowing you because quite frankly, most if not all of you are going to die. If you don't want to die, I suggest that you take the brief time that we have tonight to really learn how to fight. The reason that you are vampires instead of mortals for this war is because as a vampire you are more resistant to pain and injury. You're fast and strong, and the more you fight, the faster and stronger you will get."

Spike paused and looked over at Salem. "Want to deal with the feeding thing?"

Salem nodded. "Sure." He raised his voice. "As vampires, you now have to drink blood to survive. If you drink the blood of another vampire, it's better for you than mortal blood, although a hell of a lot more difficult to get. During this fight, if you find yourself getting hungry, change your fighting style and try to sink your fangs into your enemy. You'll stop him from attacking you and you'll get a few mouthfuls. It should be enough to keep you going. Remember to guard against the feeling you get when you drink! You're going to be paired off in a moment and you'll take turns drinking from each other so you'll know what true ecstasy is. Those of you, who think you've had fabulous orgasms in the past, forget them. Those were nothing compared to the rapture of drinking from another vampire. We need you to fight against the feeling though so that you aren't captured by it. If someone sinks their teeth into you, we want you to be able to rally your strength and fight them off despite how much you'd love to just lie there and enjoy it."

Salem glanced obliquely at Drake. He had just thought of the idea of getting them used to the taste and feeling and he hadn't had a chance to put it past the packleader.

Drake raised a thin shadow behind Salem, invisible to everyone else and used it to swat the Lasombra on the backside. "Good idea, if a little sudden, Salem."

Salem jumped slightly and "ouched" but it hadn't hurt. It was only a warning not to pull this kind of thing too often. Drake liked the idea and was showing it. If he hadn't, Salem suspected that he, Salem, would have been face first into the dirt.

"One last thing," Drake announced. "We live in this city and I have no desire to try and raise it from the rubble after this war is over. You will attempt to do as little property damage as you possibly can. Weapons are fine. Taking out a storefront just because you can is out and I will kill you myself if I see you do it. Understood?"

A ragged chorus of affirmatives rose from the crowd and Drake signalled the rest of the charter pack to draw close to him.

"Take your Childer and let them experience the Kiss, as Salem suggested," he informed them. "Then cram every bit of fighting knowledge into their skulls as you possibly can. The more that survives each battle the longer we can hold out. Oh, and Salem?"

Salem raised a smug, smirking eyebrow at his packleader.

"Wipe that fucking grin off your face."

Christine looked over the large number of vampires crowded around the bar. She hated mass Embracing as did most of her pack. The only one who enjoyed it was Colleen, the Malkavian, who seemed to come up with all sorts of different ways to do it. Christine had caught her drinking from a young man's heel once, mumbling something about Achilles. Too busy to smack her then, Christine made a note to do it at a later date when she wasn't so exhausted.

"It's time?" Jeff inquired, sidling up next to her.

"It's time," Christine agreed.

"Who first?"

Christine had thought long and hard about this. "Shelley. That little Tzimisce bitch is the only one I really have something against. I want her taken out first so that I have even more territory and therefore more feeding room for new recruits. Once that's taken care of, I want that asshole Brujah-Boy."

"To expand to the side before taking out the Island Pack." Jeff nodded and kissed her cheek. "Good call, babe."

Christine frowned. "Packleader, Jeff. Don't call me 'babe' in front of the cannon fodder."

Jeff, surprised, nodded.

Christine looked around again then clapped her hands sharply. "All right, let's get going. Remember the Golden Rule - fight to your best ability or I'll kill you myself."

The ragged group of brand new vampires cheered and followed Christine out of the bar and down Yonge Street heading towards Shelley's territory. There was no need to be quiet about this - Shelley had only herself and Kieran to Embrace new pack members. There was no way she could possibly have enough new vampires to take out Christine's horde. This was going to be a walk in the park.

They came out of nowhere.

Christine cried out in anger as a very large pack - half again the size of hers - came boiling out of the subway entrance and down the side streets towards hers. At first she thought it was Shelley then she recognised the one in front, snarling and brandishing a large piece of pipe.

"Eugene!" she screeched and the snarling face of Brujah-Boy snarled even more, heading straight towards her.

Christine was cut off from the sight of him as her new pack yelled in defiance and swarmed around her to meet the enemy. Soon the sounds of fighting were everywhere and Christine was hacking her way through a number of terrified newly Embraced vampires trying to get to Brujah-Boy. The rest of her pack fought valiantly as she tried to find the other packleader.

Colleen, yelling out puns at the top of her lungs was finally destroyed by the concerted effort of six vampires.

Aaron and Stuart, back to back, were swarmed under by a group of twenty and Christine keenly felt the Vaulderie link between them shatter.

Nick vanished and Christine didn't even see him go down. She only felt his death.

Her newly created vampires were being cut down like wheat at harvest time, falling in rows to the highly trained pack that Brujah-Boy commanded. Christine had done the Vaulderie only once with them - the loss wasn't so great. What broke her nerve and courage was when Jeff appeared near her, bleeding from several wounds and staggering with the effort of remaining conscious.

"Jeff!" Christine cried, trying to move towards him to help, but finding herself stalled, beating off three new vampires.

"Chrissie," Jeff didn't look at her as he fought, but Christine heard the desperation in his voice. "Keep fighting babe! Don't let this asshole win! The Blood Ravens must... go... on..."

Jeff's head was sliced from his neck and it landed at Christine's feet, staring up at her for a moment before bursting into dust.

Christine screamed and ran, ploughing her way through the remaining vampires and only by luck making it to the safety of the subways. As the train pulled out of the station carrying her north, Christine collapsed to the ground and wept for the loss of all she had known in her undead life.

And she wept because she still lived while the others were dead.

The shadows roiled around themselves in intricate patterns as old as the earth itself. Pulses of dark and light grey showed with almost a heartbeat synchronicity and the shape within the shadows, if there shape there truly was, changed with each pulse and cadence. It was a beautiful, if unusual display and the vampire hovering at the edge of it was careful to show proper respect whether they felt it or not.

"Report," came the monotonic, guttural voice from within the shadows.

The vampire considered carefully. "The packs build strength by Embracing and hastily teaching the newly created to fight."

"This I know."

"Yes, standard procedure," the vampire agreed. "There have been two attacks already. One by Shelley on Drake., one by Eugene on Christine."

"Shelley and Drake," the voice inquired flatly.

"Drake and his pack destroyed all but two of Shelley's pack. Shelley and Kieran remain and are creating a new pack desperately. Shelley wishes to still try for status."

"Eugene and Christine."

"Eugene decimated her entire pack, including all her newly Embraced. Christine escaped and is currently making her way to Vince's territory." The vampire rubbed his chin. "Vince isn't running for Bishop of course."

"Of course." The guttural voice was thoughtful now. "Other news?"

"Eugene is back in his own territory now, building up his pack strength again. All indications say that Drake will try to take out Shelley first."

"Yes."

The vampire waited but the shadows merely swirled and no further instructions were issued. Not having been dismissed, the vampire hesitated, and then edged towards the door. There was no challenge and the vampire fled thankfully into the night.

The Maine Coon sauntered out from the side of the room, tail at full buzz and high stepping paws dainty on the marble floor. Stopping in front of the swirling shadows, he sat down and began to industrially wash his tail.

"What shall we do about Vince, my precious?" the shadows' voice inquired, its tone now almost flirtatious.

The cat looked up, emitted a rusty miaow then looked back at its tail. A twitch, and suddenly the Maine Coon grabbed for it. Elusive, a mind of its own threading through the tiger stripes, the tail lashed from side to side. Letting out a challenging yowl, the cat pounced and captured the taunting flesh, holding it down with both paws and biting. Only one bite, though, then, the tail still captured neatly between its paws, the cat began to lick it again fastidiously.

The voice in the shadows chuckled. "A clever idea, my pet! A very clever idea indeed. In order to catch a rat, one must outsmart it. Or, better yet, have it outsmart itself, eh precious?"

The cat ignored the voice, bent on washing the furiously twitching tail.

"Yes, perhaps our precious Vince does not know what a tiger he has caught by the tail."

The voice chuckled again and the shadows stroked over the watching globe, revealing a scene inside a Gothic library.

"Or should I say dragon?"


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

No one knew where he'd come from. No one had ever seen him before, nor had anyone ever seen what he could do so easily and quickly. Vince had met him in a bar and brought him home to the haven where, after a careful four hour Ritual, the new recruit was wiped of memory and left with the knowledge that the Sabbat pack _Dark Dweomer_ was his family and its members the best friends he had in the world.

Ryu wasn't a vampire.

Ryu wasn't a Garou.

Ryu wasn't a Mage, or a wraith, or a Changeling, or any other type of creature anyone had ever heard of. The closest that he resembled was one of the long lived, reclusive Mokolé, none of which could be found in Canada, let alone a major Metropolis like Toronto.

Vince's Nosferatu Hattie had made some delicate inquiries with another Nos down in New Orleans, the highest concentration of were-alligators in North America, and they had come to the conclusion that no one was missing Ryu and therefore no one was going to come looking for him.

Perfect.

Ryu, you see, was one hell of a deadly weapon wrapped up in a compact half-Japanese body. Vince, being one of the rare Tremere _antitribu_ in the Sabbat, wanted the strongest fighter in his pack to protect him and now, in Ryu, he had him.

Ryu spent most of his nights wandering around in a state of bewildered happiness. Life was good for him, truly; he had friends to hang around with, he never wanted for food, clothing or alcoholic drink, something that he enjoyed very much. The fact that his friends drank blood and played mean games with people was something that puzzled him, yet somehow in his mind it was fitting and proper. He didn't need to drink blood or play games, but they did and they were his pack and that made everything just fine.

Yet still, something always continued to bother him in the back of his mind and the members of the pack often caught him staring speculatively at one or another of them.

It was creeping Christine out.

She had made it to Vince's pack and the Tremere, who had always had a soft spot for her, agreed to let his pack start Embracing others so that Christine could build the Blood Ravens again. Once her pack was strong and she was ready, she would be able to take out anyone. Especially since Vince had agreed to not only do proper Rituals for her to raise her new pack in strength, but also to send Ryu with her to fight.

Christine wasn't sure if she wanted the latter.

"Why do I need him?" she demanded of Vince who was lounging in his favourite rocking chair. "He's not Sabbat. He's not even a vampire!"

"That's precisely why you do need him," Vince drawled, jerking a thumb towards the back of the library where, out of earshot, Ryu could be seen poking around the stacks. "He's unstoppable, Chrissie. Completely unstoppable. Did I tell you about the group of Anarchs who came through my turf last year?"

"It was about a month after you had found him, wasn't it?" Christine frowned. "The official reports say it was six Anarchs. Basically even numbers for your pack. Mostly Gangrel. Hardly a challenge, Vince."

Vince smiled serenely. "The official reports were fudged since I don't think the Council would allow me to keep Ryu if they knew what he was truly capable of."

Christine stared at him. "Tell me the truth."

Vince smiled again, lacing his hands behind his head. "There were twenty six Anarchs, not just six. Gangrel, Brujah and Pander."

Christine's jaw dropped. "How the hell did you survive?"

"Ryu."

"What could one man do?"

"What couldn't he do is a better question," Vince shook his head, remembering. "Christine, all he did was change into this big, fucking mythical dragon and roar. I passed out. So did everyone else around; Anarchs and pack. When I came to, Ryu was still in dragon form and in the process of chewing up every single Anarch that lay insensible on the cement."

Christine made a noise of wonder, staring over at the oblivious Ryu who had pulled a book out and was leafing through it. "He ate them?"

"Not really, only sort of. He physically chewed them up and spat them out." Vince looked faintly sick. "I would have liked to have captured their blood for my own purposes, but quite frankly, Ryu saved our asses and if he wanted to play, I wasn't about to stop him."

"I should think not." Christine looked at Ryu again. "All he did was roar?"

Vince chuckled. "Yup."

Christine shook her head. He was such a mild looking little man! Fastidious in his clothing, not liking dirt to cling to him, he reminded her of a poofy Toreador she'd known in Scarborough. To be told that he was capable of mass destruction was surprising to say the least.

"So you see what an asset he'd be in your fight," Vince continued. "You'd be Bishop in no time."

Christine smiled, thinking about it, then abruptly frowned. "Shit. Meer would find out that I used outside help and she'd kill me. Besides, being Bishop is more than just winning the fights."

"It's cunning and the ability to lead," Vince told her persuasively. "It is also the ability to find the winning solution no matter what the odds. With Ryu, you'd win."

"Did I hear my name?" Ryu inquired, stepping silently up to them and making Christine jump.

"Hello, Ryu," Vince smiled at the man. "Did you find another book on origami?"

"Yes," Ryu held it up. "It's much more detailed than the one I found earlier."

"It looks excellent," Vince nodded encouragingly. "Christine and I were just discussing the possibility of you going along with her pack to help her out in some fights she's going to get into."

Ryu looked confused. "If you know in advance that you will be finding battle, why do you not take steps to avoid it?"

Christine stared. "What are you, a pacifist or something?"

"Chrissie, hush," Vince admonished her before turning his attention to Ryu again. "Honourable battle is important for the spirits to combat evil."

Ryu nodded. "Oh yes. Very important. This is honourable battle then?"

"Yes," Vince nodded, reaching a hand out to pinch Christine who was rolling her eyes impatiently. "Very honourable. The best person must be the leader. Christine is the best person and therefore must win the battles."

Ryu looked at Christine for a moment, his black eyes unfathomable. "If you are the best person, then you will win with or without my assistance. The spirits will make it so."

"Let's just say the spirits have told me that they wish to work through you," Vince pinched Christine harder and the girl made an effort at keeping her face straight.

"Oh, well in that case," Ryu replied and bowed slightly from the waist to Christine. "I am at your service then."

"Fine, great, whatever." Christine made shooing motions at Ryu who obediently stepped away, disappearing out of the building. "I'm still not sure I want to take him, Vince."

"Well, it's your decision, Chrissie," Vince shrugged. "And the most important question is, do you want to win or not?"

Ryu took his book out to the park down the street and settled onto a bench. Pulling out a sheaf of brightly coloured squares, he settled in to try creating some of the beautiful origami figures from the new book. Several minutes later, the bench next to him was festooned with swans, cranes, lotus flowers and other perfectly folded shapes. He was working on a simple one, a small rodent a quarter the size of each sheet with the thought to present several of them to Hattie the Nosferatu, when a strange voice hailed him.

"Hiya Bub."

Ryu looked up, his fingers still folding. The figure in front of him was dressed in a ragged collection of clothing and was probably male, judging from the ratty beard springing from a weak chin. Bright black eyes peered out from under shaggy brows and lips parted in a grin.

"Good evening," Ryu nodded politely. "I'm afraid I haven't any spare change tonight."

"Oh hey, you think I'm bummin' for change? Nah, don't need it."

"That's good to hear." Ryu finished the paper rodent and began another one. The man before him scooped the first one up.

"Hey great! It's a rat!" The man was obviously impressed.

"Do you like it?"

"It's fab, man! Really rad!"

"Then it is my gift to you," Ryu smiled. "Since you do not need change, perhaps this small token will brighten your evening."

"Wow!" the man turned the little rodent over and over, obviously delighted. "This is way much, man! Listen, ya gotta let me do something for you then!"

"That is not necessary," Ryu demurred, setting another rat down on the bench and beginning a third. "Truly."

"No, ya gotta! I mean, like, it's only fair, right? You do somethin' for me, I do somethin' for you! Obligation!"

Ryu understood obligation. "Very well, if you insist."

The man stuck out a filthy hand with dirt caked beneath sharp fingernails. "My name's Wesley Trojan-Extra-Slim."

Ryu accepted the hand and shook it firmly. "Ryu. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Wesley's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're Ryu? You run around with Vince and his Dark Dweomer pack?" Wesley giggled. "Sounds like a deck of cards when you say it like that."

Ryu didn't get it but smiled anyway. "Yes, Vince is my packleader. Are you one of them from a different pack?"

"Nah, I run around with a group a hell of a lot larger than a pack," Wesley nodded vigorously. "But it's cool, I know all about the vamps and stuff."

"Then it is more of a pleasure to meet you, Wesley Trojan-Extra-Slim."

The man nodded again. "Just Wesley is fine. People always look at me funny when I tell them my full name."

"I don't see why," Ryu replied solemnly. "It sounds like a nice name to me."

The grin returned even wider than before. "Hey, man, thanks! That's really swell of you!"

Ryu shrugged as he finished another paper rat and set it down with the others. "I say what I mean."

"Kind of a rare thing these days," Wesley mused, sitting down on the grass in front of Ryu, his rat still held carefully in one hand. "Listen, why are you hangin' out with the blood suckers anyway?"

"Why not?" Ryu cocked his head. "They are my pack, my friends. My family."

"Yer family?" Wesley laughed. "How can a bunch of blood sucking vampires be family to you? Yer closer to bein' my brother than theirs!"

Ryu was curious now. "How so?"

Wesley looked around. "Well, you change into somethin' else, right?"

"Yes," Ryu nodded.

"Well, so do I!"

Ryu sucked in a breath. "You do? A dragon like me? I have been searching for more of my kind for ages!"

"Nah, nah, calm down," Wesley shook his head. "I ain't no dragon. I'm a much nobler creature."

Ryu looked properly impressed. "What?"

Wesley looked around again then shifted shape. Ryu blinked. "A much nobler creature indeed."

Wesley had shifted into the shape of a large rat. Black of fur and eyes, the intelligence behind those glittering orbs was at the same time mischievous and fervent. The rat chittered for a moment then shifted back into the ragged man. "See? Can any of your pack friends do that?"

"Not one." Ryu was pleased indeed. This was the first shape shifter he'd met.

"So you see why I said it's more likely that I'm your family than they are?"

"Members of a family can be different," Ryu replied philosophically. "It is the closeness that counts."

"Uh-huh. Vince feed you that bullshit?"

Ryu looked startled and Wesley continued.

"Ya see, Ryu, we shape shifters are against the vampires. They breed corruption and death all around them. I know you've seen them attack the humans for no reason. Just to play games."

"Yes," Ryu nodded, disturbed by Wesley's words.

"We shape changers, we're here to protect the Earth, to keep Nature going. There's a balance between the species you know."

"Yes, I know." Ryu was back on more familiar ground. "The balance is important to keep the yin and the yang even."

"The what and the who?" Wesley shook his head, one foot lifting absently to scratch at the back of the opposite leg. "Never mind. The point is, that the vampires are working for the evil side. They're trying to yank the balance askew, make evil win out."

Ryu thought about this. "They do good things as well."

"Oh yeah?" Wesley challenged. "Like what?"

"They care for each other," Ryu argued. "They care for me."

"They care for each other as long as they are useful," Wesley corrected him. "And the only reason they care for you is because you can wipe them out in ten seconds flat."

"I doubt it would take that long," Ryu murmured.

"Whatever." Wesley scratched his leg again. "Ryu, don't you get it? They're using you. They've turned you into their own little pet dragon to sick on the enemies. Haven't you been told to go fight for that bitch Christine's pack?"

"Well yes, but that is an honourable battle, to ensure that she becomes leader. She is the best for it, after all."

"Says who? Vince? Christine?"

"The spirits spoke to Vince and affirmed the correctness of the choice."

"That's a load of horse crap, Ryu and part of you knows it, too. Vince can no more talk to spirits than this little paper rat can."

"But he has said that he can!"

"He's a liar! All vampires are liars! This battle that Christine is going to, she wants to fight it! These vampires love to fight, don't you see that? When they can't fight, they play nasty games! It's the blood in them, Ryu. The blood _is_ them; there's no person named Vince, it's blood named Vince! The blood drives them, nothing else. They don't feel emotions, they don't care about being nice, they don't care about anything. They're just a bunch of corpses running around stealing the life from other good people for the sole purpose of feeding the demons inside them."

Ryu roared to his feet, paper animals scattering everywhere. "You are lying! They are good people, they care! They are my family, they are the only friends I have!"

"Really? Then why have you only been with them for a years? You've been around a hell of a lot longer than that. With no friends?"

"I..." Ryu stopped, the puzzled part of his brain pushing to the forefront. "I'm sure I had other friends."

"I know you had other friends," Wesley smiled. "You were with one of them in the bar the night you met Vince. Your friend didn't see you leave with him and when you didn't show up at the designated meeting spot, your friend figured that you were off on another of your apparently frequent solitary journeys."

Ryu sat down again, abruptly. "I was with someone that night? Why don't I remember?" He stopped, his eyes widening. "Why don't I remember before that night?"

"Because Vince fucked with your mind." Wesley scratched at his leg again. "He's a Tremere, they can do that. He planted the whole lovey-dovey 'it's ok for us to kill people' thing into your head and wiped out all your previous memories. And why? I'll give you two guesses."

Ryu swallowed heavily. "Because I can kill vampires really easily...?"

"That's one. Now what's the logical extension of that? Why would Vince care if you can kill vampires really easily? Why would he care so much as to make sure that you loved them all?"

Ryu's brain suddenly clicked. "Because my species hates vampires and kills them regularly?"

"Bingo!" Wesley grinned widely. "Wanna see another party trick someone taught me?"

Ryu nodded dumbly.

"Abracadabra, alamazoo," Wesley cried out, waving his hands around Ryu's head. "With just two words, you're back to being you!" He winked at Ryu. "_Zhong Lung!_"

A heavy wind wailed inside Ryu's head, knocking the man to the ground. Writhing with the force of the tempest within, Ryu cried out in a strange language that suddenly became clear to him. Memories flooded back, from his first hatching in the heat of the desert to the night he and Wuuzie had decided to go bar hopping. He was not Ryu, member of the pack Dark Dweomer, subservient to all who ran with Vince. He was not Ryu, the amiable weapon who fought and destroyed on a vampire's command.

He was Ryu No Ko, Child of the Dragon, born into the world as a Komodo lizard and changed forever into the gloriousness of the Hengeyokai Family known as the Zhong Lung.

And he was _really_ pissed off.

The wind passed and Ryu stood up carefully, brushing down his shirt and pants before facing the still grinning Wesley. Ryu looked him straight in the eyes, then bowed low from the waist.

"Honourable Nezumi," he said cordially, ice from his anger still in his tone, but obviously not directed at the man before him. "You have done me a service that I will forever be in your debt for."

"Hey, it was the least I could do," Wesley waved a hand dismissing it. "I've seen other shape changers caught by the wiles of the vamps and it's nice to know I was able to snap you out of this one. The code word was somethin' Vince built into the Ritual, ya know? Give ya back yer memories if he ever didn't want to deal with ya anymore." Wesley carefully didn't mention the other part of the code word – that the one who spoke it was still regarded favourably by Ryu. A safeguard for Vince himself.

Ryu nodded. "Nice indeed. Should you ever need assistance, have one of your Brethren seek me out. I shall come with all speed to your side."

"Nice to know," Wesley nodded vigorously. "Thanks, man! You headin' off now?"

"Yes." Ryu's head turned towards the library and his eyes flattened. "I have some unfinished business to take care of."

First, he would deal with Vince and the pack that had taken him in for so long. Then, he would see about getting a bite to eat and meeting up with Wuuzie at one of their long ago pre-determined meeting places. Food before meeting though, definitely.

Mass destruction always made him hungry.

The shadows were excited, swirling around in dizzying patterns and communicating their excitement to the Maine Coon.

"How utterly perfect, my precious!" the voice exulted. "How marvellous! Such a triumph! Did you see, little one? Did you see the way the dragon stomped all over Vince and his pack? Perhaps you didn't, here, I'll replay it."

Shadow tendrils stroked over the globe and the scene inside showed Ryu in huge dragon form snarling and chewing and generally wreaking complete havoc on the haven and the pack inside. Vince was saved until last and Ryu made a special point of first grabbing each leg and turning Vince into a wishbone, then biting his head off and spitting it out. The head turned to dust almost immediately, showering ash down on the lone survivor.

Ryu turned to her, shifting back into his human form and giving a slight bow from the waist.

"I am sorry that you had to witness that," he said urbanely to the wide eyed, nearly gibbering Christine. "You were not part of this pack, therefore you were not part of the harm done to me. You and your new pack – where are they?"

"In the… temporary haven…" Christine stammered.

"Excellent, I did not think I saw any here."

Ryu looked around at the broken bodies, piles of dust and rubble that was the library and a small smile spread over his face before he turned back to Christine.

"Let this be a lesson to your kind," he said, his tone almost friendly. "There are some things in this world that should not be tampered with." He fixed Christine with his snapping black eyes. "Will you remember?"

Christine started nodding and was still nodding long after Ryu had departed.

The shadows swept over the scene, the voice chuckling madly at what had transpired.

"You see precious? What a wonderful tool he was! I must keep an eye on him for future adventures, yes?"

The Maine Coon miaowed and pawed at the globe eagerly.

"Ah yes, sweet thing, we must check up on another one, mustn't we?"

The shadow swept over the globe again and this time the scene inside was on a dark tunnel, a sewer. Trudging along it was Wesley, stopping every once in awhile to scratch at his leg. The Maine Coon's eyes brightened and he miaowed loudly.

Wesley looked up and around immediately, reacting to the sound. "Oh you're back are you? Well, I did what you told me to do. I used the words on the dragon and I think it worked. Have I done enough?"

The Maine Coon miaowed eagerly again.

"I don't speak cat, buddy. I did what you wanted me to do. You said you'd release my family if I did it. Will you release them now? Or have you eaten them and it's a moot point?"

Wesley sounded tired. "Do I even have a wife and kids anymore or have you double-crossed me?"

The guttural voice spoke and there was no question that the man in the globe could hear it.

"You have done well, Ratkin. Your family will be released as promised. I do not double-cross."

"You'd be the first." Wesley looked a little brighter though. "Where do I find them?"

"Ah now, that wasn't part of the bargain, was it? I only agreed to release them. Not to a specific place. Nor to tell you where."

Wesley snarled and shifted to his Crinos form, a huge rat-man with razor sharp teeth and claws. "_You son of a bitch!_ Come out where I can see you, you coward!"

"Temper, temper, little Ratkin," the guttural voice was even more amused. "Won't it be fun to try and track them down? A new adventure for you. How exciting."

"_I'll show you excitement you yellow piece of shit! Come here and fight!"_

"Good bye little Ratkin," the voice said with satisfaction. "I shall contact you again when I need you again." A dry chuckle came out of the shadows. "And enjoy the permanent visitor to your leg. I've always felt that rats and fleas go together well."

"_When I find you, you are dead! Do you hear me? __**Dead!"**_

A shadow swept over the globe and Wesley's voice cut off abruptly. The Maine Coon looked disappointed, then sat down to wash its gleaming fur.

"That's gratitude for you, eh little one? Such a mouth on the Ratkin. Really, he should wash it out with soap. Ah well, there is no need to be bothered with him any longer. I had grown tired of him even before this incident with the dragon."

The Maine Coon began stalking one of the moving shadows.

"Now precious, let us look in and see what everyone else is doing. I believe that a fight is breaking out in Willowdale and one should always watch things that one has started, yes?"


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Salem stared down at the paper sitting on the desk before him. Although he had access to Maggie's computer, he preferred the old fashioned way of actually writing down what he was thinking. Not to mention the fact that computers could be hacked into. The Buzz & Company Rodent Courier Service was an utterly safe route to send confidential material.

Even if it did need to be cleaned when it got there.

Salem tapped one fang with his pen thoughtfully. It had been two nights since Shelley's attack and there hadn't been even a whisper of another. Oh, there had been fights going on in the city; that was certain. Billy the Kid, that shitty little Brujah in Jesse's pack had attacked and killed one of Ysabel's pack, so those two were close to duking it out. Christine had been utterly decimated by a swift and brutal attack by Brujah-Boy and was now licking her wounds in Vince's territory thinking about trying to make her pack again. Brujah-Boy had disappeared back into his own territory without attacking Shelley, which puzzled Drake to no end. The Island was safe from intruders - Drake had posted several of Salem's Childer as well as his own around the edge to watch for boats and swimmers. The packleader had, in fact, decided to wait it out for a few nights to see if the rest of the packs in Toronto would kill each other off enough so that he could take down the remaining without too much effort. It bothered Spike something fierce, but Salem understood the strategy behind it. It was an intelligent thing to do when one had an impregnable fortress that could be safely defended.

So, the core pack had some downtime and while most were involved with teaching their Childer how to fight, Salem had turned his own small group over to Spike while he, Salem, settled down to write a letter to Maggie.

_Dear Maggie,_ he wrote, the ink flowing a little scratchily on the paper. _You would not believe the shit that's going down here._

Salem detailed in his thoughts about the Monomacy Challenge between Diego and Meer, filling in the exact happenings before diverging.

_I should feel a hundred percent happy for her, you know? I mean, she's my Blood Sire and enough people know that to reflect favourably on me when she kicks ass. But I can't help remembering what she put me through when she Embraced me and to tell you the truth, love, I would have probably cheered if she'd gone down. Maybe only in my head, but there would definitely have been some celebrating. I can't help feeling that now that she's higher status there are some troubled times ahead. Oh, I don't mean for the Sabbat – Meer's good at what she does and I think she'll be a great Arch Bishop, I really do. I mean for us, you and I. After all, you are her star infiltrator and I'm her Blood Childe. Both of us belong to her in her mind somehow; I've seen her eyes when she's with us. I think it bugs her that you and I have each other to the exclusion of her._

Salem tapped his fang again thoughtfully before continuing.

_Maybe I'm seeing wraiths, love, maybe it's all Cammie dust in the wind, but I think there's a storm coming and I don't think Meer is going to want us to weather it together._

Salem continued on outlining the discussion he'd had with Drake regarding the Bishop race and how the pack had been turned loose to scour the Island and secure it.

_Spike and I went together, love, and you know, we're a pretty unstoppable team. Hell, if sex meant anything anymore, I'd probably be trying to convince him to start swinging both ways on the fence, know what I mean? As it is, we share a Kiss now and again. If I can't be with you, Maggie my beloved, I'd rather be with him._

_Well, we went left and ended up at the Maurier's place; you remember, the young couple with the two little kids and the strict regime? They weren't home, which immediately brought my hackles up. I mean, they are ALWAYS home. I was right to be suspicious. I took the upstairs and ended up facing Todd from Shelley's pack._

_Love, I would never admit it to anyone else, but I hated killing him. I know that the last one standing gets Bishop, but why should we be slaughtering fellow Sabbat? We should be saving our energies for the Camarilla and our other enemies! Drake said that we could fight to defeat but let's be honest here – how many Sabbat are going to stop at defeat when they can kill and drink? I wasn't about to drain Todd; that Pander was a lot further from Caine than I am. It was no challenge, killing him. I played with him, cut off bits and pieces and eventually dealt him the final blow, but Maggie, I hated to do it! Why can't there be another way?_

Salem sighed and sent a brief thought to Whomever might be listening to a young Lasombra, for Todd the Pander whose only crime was not being the stronger fighter.

Salem continued writing, moving on into the time when Drake loosed the pack on the city to create cannon fodder Childer.

_With the exception of two, I really like the ones I chose. I know that probably none of them will survive, but I would be happy to claim any of them as my Childer if they did. One in particular. You remember Ariel, our pet sitter/housekeeper down in the sewer haven? Well, I decided that if we were ever going to Embrace her, now was the time. Boy-howdy, was she surprised when I told her what I'd come to do!_

Salem grinned to himself, remembering the night he'd gone down to the sewer haven to check on his one and only ghoul, a pretty girl he and Maggie had picked up over fifty years before. She had been out with a group of five others, three boys and two girls, just a teenager having fun on a Saturday night. Maggie had rounded them up and brought them down to the sewer haven to use as food sources for her and Salem.

Once there, Salem had brought up the thought to Maggie that they both had pets – Maggie a black Labrador puppy named Jake and Salem an exotic kitten named Tiamat – and that there should be someone to look after them. After all, when you ran with a Sabbat pack, you didn't always get time off when you needed to and both Salem and Maggie believed firmly that there was a special place in Hell reserved for people who abused animals.

The fact that it was widely believed that as vampires they would be going to Hell anyway was a moot point.

Maggie had agreed that someone should look after the animals and decided that it should be one of the girls, her eyes fixating on Ariel. The pretty chestnut haired girl had spoken up immediately, asking them to please consider her boyfriend, as she would rather die herself than see him die.

Salem and Maggie, new to love, were both touched by this show of devotion and Ariel was chosen to remain as pet sitter and housekeeper in the haven. The fact that they killed her boyfriend for food anyway didn't matter – it was the spirit they saw in her and the fact that she was willing to die for love that made the difference.

Ariel got over her boyfriend as fast as it took Salem to feed her blood. Once ghouled to him, Ariel became his slave and utterly infatuated with the handsome Lasombra. Knowing that he belonged to Maggie, Ariel made up her mind to be the best that he expected of her. She performed her tasks conscientiously and carefully, the various pets that Maggie and Salem owned over time looked after with both love and commitment. Ariel's world revolved around Salem and, to a slightly lesser extent, Maggie. So when Salem came to her and offered to make her his Childe, even knowing that death was the likely results of the Embrace at this time, Ariel accepted.

Being Salem's Childe was the closest she could come to being his alone.

_There's another in the pack that I really like the look of, Maggs. One of mine, of course. Little spitfire named Shannon. I ate her Rottweiler and she was none too impressed. She didn't scare, even when I turned the full fang-face on her! She fought the Embrace every inch of the way and I would really love to see her survive. Spike said it's not cool to help one of them over another, since it's survival of the fittest after all, but if I can do it sneakily, I will._

Salem chewed on his pen for a second, wondering if he should tell her about Vince's annihilation. Maggie had always had mixed feelings about Vince. The charismatic packleader was personable, friendly and a good fighter. Maggie had enjoyed many excellent conversations with him over the years. But the fact that Vince was Tremere and Maggie commanded the Salubri Gift of Healing, made the Nosferatu wary of him at all times. It was an uncomfortable relationship, and Vince seemed to sense it, but without knowing the truth, Salem suspected that it was passed off as the usual Nosferatu reserve.

Salem, on the other hand, loathed the Tremere. Any and all Tremere. He hated them more than he hated the Toreador, and that was a lot. The Tremere had hunted the Salubri ever since they stole the Embrace and diablerised Saulot and no one who showed the faintest sympathy for the elusive Salubri, let alone their Healing powers, was safe from their murdering ways. Vince wasn't as passionate about it as the Camarilla Tremere, Salem knew, but still, there would be problems if Vince ever found out about Maggie.

Now, of course, he never would, thanks to the pet shape changer he'd adopted that had turned on him with such viciousness.

_Vince is gone, love, you'll get the whole story when you come back. In fact, his entire pack was annihilated except possibly for one who was away at the time. We're still getting reports on that; without a Nosferatu here, it's a little sketchy. Jez tries, but she can't charm the Nos Net and her Toreador contacts aren't all that interested in the news from the Monsters._

_No offence intended, of course._

Salem grinned, seeing in his mind the way Maggie's nose would wrinkle up at the nickname the other Clans had for hers. The 'no offence' comment wouldn't get him out of a smack when she returned, but it would be worth it. Teasing Maggie was one of the high points in his life.

_Ysabel and Jesse are gearing up for a fight, from what we've heard. The Island is secure, but we've got contact out through the 'net and the scuttlebutt says that the attack on Rod by Billy, then the killing of Selina and Basil in the nightclub by a witnessed member of a gang that Jesse controls was enough to catapult them into the Bishop race. Or at least catapult them into finally taking their underground guerrilla warfare into an all out war._

Salem frowned as he wrote.

_Something I don't understand, love. Why would a gunman kill both Selina and Basil? Basil yes, he was the enemy, right? A member of Ysabel's pack and since the gunman belonged to a gang under Jesse's control, Basil would naturally be killed. But why take out your own information gatherer as well? Selina was the only Nosferatu in that pack, so it really doesn't make sense. The way I heard it, the two of them were just enjoying a little time off together and the gunman opened fire in the bar with phosphorous rounds. Maybe it was a mistake on the gunman's part, but it still bothers me. I wish you were here to chew it all out with me, love! We brainstorm well together in stuff like this._

Salem heard noises out in the main part of the Haven and left his letter writing for a bit to stick his head out and see what was going on.

"I like this one, Salem!" Spike crowed, his arm draped around the shoulder of the only other person in the haven, Salem's spitfire Childer Shannon. "She's got balls!"

"And I've kicked yours several times," Shannon was obviously trying to get out from under Spike's arm but failing miserably.

"His balls shrivelled up and died decades ago, babe," Salem grinned at her. "Doesn't hurt him in the least."

Spike chuckled and grabbed a hank of Shannon's long dark blonde hair, hauling her head back brutally and exposing her throat. Sinking his teeth into it, he took a few swallows, ignoring the pummelling Shannon gave him with her fists and feet.

"Ah, a tasty wench!" Spike licked the wound healed and leered.

"Stop drinking from my Childer, idiot," Salem told him with a laugh. "Give her here, I'll take her for private instructions."

Shannon glared and managed to score a good hit on Spike's cheek before she was shoved in Salem's direction. Salem caught her before she stumbled and jerked herself away from him.

_She may belong to me and be Bound, but she's not going to submit to anything!_ Salem thought admiringly. _I have to keep this one alive!_

"All right, have fun with her," Spike said as he ducked into his own room and came back out with an armful of vicious looking weapons. "I'll expect a progress report later." He winked and leered again. "Let me know if she's any good."

Salem didn't change his expression, but pulled a shadow out from under the couch and swung it at Spike's feet. Spike jumped over it and stuck his tongue out at Salem.

"Missed me, missed me, now ya gotta kiss me!"

Salem sent the other shadows he'd been pulling up while Spike was distracted with the first one over the Brujah's shoulders and tied him tight. Walking over with a smile, Salem regarded his firmly trussed friend for a moment before leaning in and kissing him soundly on the lips.

"There," the Lasombra told him. "I kissed you. Now go teach our Childer something about fighting."

Spike swung at Salem when the shadows were released, but missed. Grumbling loudly, the Brujah picked up the weapons he'd dropped and headed out of the haven.

Salem turned back to Shannon who had watched the whole thing with a cynical look on her face.

"What, in this day and age, you've never seen a guy kiss another guy?"

"I've never seen a guy have to hogtie another guy just to get a kiss," Shannon replied and there was black fire in her hazel eyes. "Show me how to do that."

Salem looked surprised. "Obtenebration? It takes time to learn, babe. Well, learn well enough to be useful in a fight. You're better off learning how to throw and take the punches."

"Show me," Shannon repeated. "The shadows are part of being Lasombra, right? Show me how to use the shadows."

Salem stared at her for a long minute before slowly nodding. "All right. When I finish my letter. Go sit on the bed."

Shannon turned and went while Salem sat back down at the desk and picked up his pen again.

_Love, I am keeping Shannon alive if I have to buck tradition to do it._

Salem wrote out what had just happened and finished outlining what he had heard from his various contacts and Jez's sources. Aware of Shannon waiting impatiently for him, he finished quickly.

_Beloved one, this whole Bishop thing bugs me. I mean, we're slaughtering all sorts of fellow Sabbat and for what purpose? To find out who's the strongest fighter. There has to be a better way! Honestly, if I had my way, the next time Bishop needed to be chosen, it would go automatically to the one packleader who was above the rest. I know Meer was packleader and Bishop at the same time, but I can't see how, with Toronto expanding so much, a single vampire no matter how clever, can both run a pack properly and handle the duties of Bishop. I suspect that whomever gets Bishop will end up giving up his or her packleader status. I don't know how it's going to work out, I really don't, but next time a Bishop is needed, the strongest packleader should be the one chosen. And the strongest packleader should already be known._

Salem chewed on his pen again.

_We can't afford to lose fellow Sabbat for something like this. It's the way it's always been done, yes, but it's not the way it should be done in the future. We are never going to win the war if we keep losing the troops in our own petty infighting. It has to stop. Somebody has to stop it._

Salem looked down at the paper and wrote his final sentence before signing his name in a flourish.

_Maybe I'll just do it myself._


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Jesse was in a foul mood, but that would change once he actually got into the fighting. After all, he'd been wanting to seriously stick it to Ysabel for decades – only the frowning disapproval of Diego the old Arch Bishop kept him from taking the guerrilla warfare tactics he'd been using out into the open. Now, however, with the Bishop Race as well as the attack on his Nosferatu Basil, it was time to make Ysabel finally understand who was the better fighter.

The Dogs of War were going down, their bitch leader screaming under his own fangs.

"Brad! Get over here," Jesse commanded, his eyes seeking out and finding the stocky Tremere.

"Yes?" Brad folded his arms in his robes.

"I want you to stay back from the actual fighting," Jesse told him. "Try to take some of them out with your magic. You aren't much of a fighter, but if you can take some out it will save our pack."

"As you wish," Brad nodded. He wasn't fast or strong, but his command of his Clan's Discipline Thaumaturgy was excellent. Especially his specialty, Movement of the Mind.

"I'm gonna make mincemeat outta Ysabel!" Billy's voice rang out from the side of the haven where he was dancing around and basically annoying the hell out of everyone else.

Jesse was beside him in a stride and picked him up by the scruff of the neck. Having been Billy's packleader for over a hundred years, he knew just how to hold the small Brujah so as to render Billy helpless.

"Touch Ysabel and I'll kill you myself," Jesse hissed at him angrily. "You do not have the rank to take on the packleader, nor do you have my permission."

"If she crosses my path I'm takin' her," Billy said belligerently, swinging futilely with both fists.

"If she crosses your path, you'll be dead," Jesse snapped at him. A shadow rose from the ground at Jesse's feet and snapped across Billy's face hard. The resulting whipcord thin welt seemed almost to pulse in the little Brujah's white face. "Wear that as a remembrance so that you'll keep your head in the battle."

"Bastard," Billy snarled, kicking out and narrowly missing Jesse.

Jesse roared and shadows sprang from the ground to enwrap Billy fully, pinning his legs and arms together.

"Are you challenging me?" Jesse growled.

Billy hesitated, struggling against his black bonds, then sagged in their hold. "No, packleader." _Not yet…_

Jesse spat contemptuously into Billy's face and released his grip on the shadows, tumbling the small Brujah ignobly to the ground. Billy bounced to his feet, glaring, as the rest of the pack laughed at him.

Jesse promptly ignored him and worked his way through the rest of the pack, formulating his plans. Brad would stay to the back and use his powers to help out the rest of the pack. Mike, the Brujah Templar, would barrel straight up the middle and Billy, once he got over his snit, would join him. Jay and Chris, the Ravnos twins, would work the sides, sending illusion after illusion into the midst of the enemy pack, confusing them and hopefully dropping their guard so that Marty, a vicious Toreador and Kevin, an equally vicious Pander, could circle around behind and attack that way. Jesse himself would head straight for Ysabel. After all, even though he would dearly love to wipe out the entire Dogs of War pack, the formal reason for this fight was to establish the stronger packleader.

Ysabel was Brujah and a tough bitch at that, but Jesse was Lasombra, Clan of Shadows, and he would take her out if it was the last thing he did.

Then he'd take Billy to a quiet corner and beat the living snot out of him.

Aris of the Toreador Clan was in her element, organizing the pack into a concrete plan of attack. Jesse's pack Stealth and her own pack the Dogs of War had always been about equal in size. Now, with both Basil and Rod dead, Stealth had a one-man advantage.

Aris, however, had two fairly old, very vicious Gangrel at her disposal. Both Kevely and Eve knew how to use their claws and they weren't averse to figuring out new ways to ginsu an opponent. With Slash the Brujah and Aris herself making up more of the fighting force, it should be enough to take on the more diverse Stealth. Ysabel would be concentrating on Jesse as was right, and Akima, the Tzimisce priest, would be doing clean up duty.

Meaning, anyone that happened to avoid the initial onslaught from the four front fighters would find himself or herself face to face with an oozing black hard-shelled war machine.

It couldn't lose. They were better than that mangy pack Jesse controlled and tonight they would prove it.

"Aris, front and centre," Ysabel called and Aris hurried over to where her packleader was putting her armour on. Ysabel was strong, but she had learned from her Gangrel. Having sharpened poisoned spikes on her brass knuckles made her enemies infinitely less happy when she hit them with the full force of her Potence-backed fists.

"Any word from Windsor?" Ysabel inquired as Aris helpfully attached the poisoned spurs to Ysabel's boots for her.

"Not yet," Aris shook her head. "Meer made a pretty big impression on him when she told him to stay out of the Bishop race."

"And didn't you explain to him that helping us fight is not getting involved in the Bishop race?" Ysabel demanded. "Meer just told him not to run for Bishop himself. At least, that's what Basil said originally."

Aris felt a twinge of sorrow at the dead Nosferatu's name, then shook her head again. "Windsor took it to mean that he should stay on his little turf and not get involved in any way."

Ysabel sighed. "Any chance you were able to persuade him? Think he might show up anyway?"

"I did what I could, Ysabel," Aris replied seriously. "I know I left him with some doubts in his mind. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"It would have been nice to have counted on Windsor and the other two," Ysabel mused. "Still, we should be enough even without him."

"Damned straight!" Aris yelped, the enthusiasm for the fight rushing back to her. "Stealth is going down!"

The date had been fun, but Alicia was ready to call it a night. It was nearly eleven o'clock and she had a few other boys to call before going to bed. After all, a girl had to have fallbacks if the current flavour didn't pull through.

And Steve was beginning to bore her a little. Not very much, truly, but a little. It was time to find someone else. As per usual, though, she would wait until she had the new person hooked before releasing the old. Why should she suffer and be without someone, after all?

"So, you wanna do something tomorrow?" Steve inquired, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. Alicia twitched under it and Steve obediently dropped it. "I got the day off."

"I think I'll be busy," Alicia replied, looking around at the stored that were just closing. Yonge Street was exciting at night, but she would be happy to get to the subway and get home.

"You think you'll be busy?" Steve frowned. "You don't know?"

"No, of course not," Alicia smiled brightly at him. "How can I know now what I'll feel like doing tomorrow?"

"Most people plan ahead," Steve told her.

"I'm not most people, remember?"

"You got that right," Steve muttered to himself. "All right, what do you want to do now?"

"Go home," Alicia replied swiftly and manufactured a patently fake yawn. "I'm really tired."

"Uh-huh," Steve rolled his eyes. "Getting tired of me already, eh?"

Alicia turned wide, innocent eyes on him. "Why Steve, what makes you think that?"

"Nothing," Steve sighed. "Come on, I'll take you home."

They had almost made it to the subway station when seven bruising thugs came out of a side street and made straight for them. Alicia felt a twinge of fear, then noticed the six-year-old boy with them. Oh, it would probably be all right then. Chances are this gang was just looking for someone to take the little boy to the police station. After all, a gang couldn't very well waltz in to the station, now could they?

Alicia smiled at the gang, turning her smile warmer for the little boy. The expression faltered a little when the child didn't smile back.

"Can we help you?" Steve inquired nervously when the gang surrounded them.

"Yes, you can," one of them spoke, his voice rich with character. "You can have the honour of being the first to feed us."

_They were being mugged…_ Alicia, who hated the thought of anything happening to her pretty face that she didn't do, immediately reached for her purse.

"I don't have very much money," she said, her voice quavering a little as she dug into the bag. "But I do have this!"

Pulling out a small bottle of pepper spray, she levelled it at the one who spoke and sent the gaseous cloud directly into his face.

Alicia covered her face to protect her own eyes and turned to run, figuring that the rest of the gang would be disoriented now that their leader had been taken down.

She bumped into one of them who grabbed her arms and held her painfully immobile.

"That was really pathetic, bitch," the one who had spoken before, spoke again. Alicia snuck a glance at him. She knew that she had scored a direct hit, there was no way that she missed, but his eyes themselves were clear and fixed straight on her. "Not to mention stupid."

Alicia gasped. Obviously the store had sold her faulty spray! When she got home, she was going to write a very stern letter to that company.

The little boy walked up to her and looked up into her face.

"Hello," Alicia managed to say to him, trying a smile. "Are you lost?"

"Nope," the little boy shook his head. "I'm hungry."

"If you come with me, I'll take you to McDonalds," Alicia hoped desperately that maybe this gang wouldn't hurt her if the child were in her arms. "Shall I carry you?"

Snickers erupted from the gang around them but Alicia ignored them for the moment. The one who had been holding her arm let go on a nod from the original speaker and Alicia held out her hands. "Come to me, little one, I'll take you to get some food and then we'll find your family."

The little boy allowed her to pick him up and Alicia turned to the original speaker. "I'll just take him along to McDonalds. Thanks for being so kind hearted in looking after him. I'm sure his parents will be grateful."

The speaker grinned. "His parents have been dead for three hundred years, bitch. Right Billy?"

"Right," the child grinned and looked straight into Alicia's face. "I'm a lot older than I look. Gimme a kiss."

Alicia tried to drop the child but Billy clung like a leech, laughing before digging his fangs into her neck. Alicia's last thought just before the agony of having her life drained overwhelmed her was "I am never having children if they're all like this one!"

Aris and Ysabel led their rowdy, pumped up pack along the side street, heading towards the place where they knew Jesse would try to attack from. Jesse was nothing if not predictable and that would be his mistake tonight. Akima had done a powerful Ritual that had granted extra strength and power to the pack and everyone just knew that this was going to be a walk in the park. Stealth would rue the day that they crossed the Dogs of War!

War cries sounding from every throat, the Sabbat pack Dogs of War erupted from the North York subway station bent upon complete annihilation of their sworn enemies, the Sabbat pack Stealth.

Stealth wasn't there.

The Dogs of War ranged across the bus parking lot, growing more and more puzzled as the minutes passed.

"Where the fuck are they?" Aris demanded, coming to a stop next to a frowning Ysabel.

"How the fuck should I know?" Ysabel demanded back, irritation heavily colouring her tone. "They're always here whenever we want to fight! This is the appointed meeting place!"

"That scum sucking cowardly maggot Jesse must be hiding somewhere, too afraid to face us," Eve, one of the Gangrel commented.

"Damn it, I wanted a fight!" Aris was right royally pissed. "I wanted to beat that yellow pack like a drum!"

Ysabel rolled her eyes. "Careful, you're starting to sound like a Toreador."

Aris lashed out and hit Eve in a frustrated punch. Eve growled, but took it. Aris was higher in rank and the Gangrel had no choice.

The rest of the pack converged on them and Ysabel took one last look around. "All right, they aren't here. Obviously Jesse has decided to take the coward's way out and not show up. We'll go beard him in his Haven."

With approving yells, the Dogs of War headed back into the subway station. Jumping over the turnstiles, they made their way to the platform to head north towards Jesse's known haven. They were cocky and sure of themselves, dancing around jabbing at the kine with mock punches and slowly separating from each other down the long platform.

That was when Jesse and his pack emerged from the shadows and attacked.

Ysabel didn't stand a chance. Not ready for a fight, she squared off with Jesse missing part of one arm that had been viciously cut off with a sharp long sword in the Stealth packleader's hand. Ysabel rallied her strength and desperately fought with all of her cunning, but she was badly shaken and it wasn't long before Jesse dealt her the final blow and she succumbed to death, her body shivering into ash not long after she fell. All around the platform, the rest of her pack dropped until only Aris was left standing, blood tears streaming down her contorted face.

"Give up Aris," Jesse ordered, waving Marty, who was fighting her, back. The rest of the pack surrounded her and Aris stood warily, circling slowly trying to keep an eye on all of them. "Give up and join my pack. You're a good fighter."

Aris didn't speak, but she did spit a mouthful of blood into Jesse's face. That was answer enough. Jesse nodded to Mike and Billy who darted forward together and cut the proud Toreador down to dust.

Horrified kine on the platform tried desperately not to look as though they were interested, for fear of attracting the pack's attention. A train rumbled into the station and Jesse herded his pack on board. The very few kine within, seeing the blood stained clothing and wild faces of the pack, decided suddenly that this was the station they were getting off at and when the train's doors whistled closed and started off, Stealth was the only group in the car.

Jesse looked over the pack. They hadn't taken a single loss, although Jay had taken a vicious swipe to his throat that nearly decapitated him. All had lost blood, but that was easily remedied. Jesse was well pleased.

"You guys were great," he warmly congratulated them. "And thanks to you, Stealth now owns twice the turf. We'll need to Embrace a few more members to hold it."

Billy grimaced. Because he was physically still a little kid, he didn't have the capacity to create Childer. Not that he had ever found anyone that he deemed worthy, but still, it would have been nice to have been able to do it, should the opportunity ever arise.

The fight he'd just been in had been unsatisfying. Oh sure, he'd been thrilled to take out Eve, a tough Gangrel, all by himself, but the whole experience was disappointing.

Billy longed for the opportunity to prove himself as the pre-eminent fighter of the Sabbat. He wanted other packs to look at him and say, "Wow, that's Billy, the most vicious fighter ever!". He wanted the respect that Jesse had, the awe that was given to Drake, but he wanted it for what a Brujah did best, not for leadership like them. Only one vampire in all of Toronto was worthy of Clan respect from Billy.

Spike of the Shadow Dragons.

Billy wanted to meet him, but more, Billy wanted to _be_ him. Tall, strong and with a take-no-shit-from-nobody attitude. Billy would never be tall, but he was making damned sure that he was strong. And his attitude was getting worse every day.

The subway rumbled through the tunnels on its long route towards Sheppard station. The pack relaxed in their car and began healing the various wounds they had picked up in the fight. Once back at the haven, where a large supply of blood had been laid in, they would be able to get back to full strength. Thanks to Jesse's planning, they wouldn't need nearly as much as they'd anticipated.

"So we really kicked their asses, eh?" Jay bounced over to flop down onto the seat next the Jesse.

"We were great," Jesse smiled at the Ravnos. "We'll have to have one hell of a celebration when we get back."

"Damned straight!" Chris chimed up from across the way. "Blood shower?"

Jesse chuckled. "Definitely."

The train slowed down and pulled into Sheppard station. No one got into their car and the train was soon on its way to the final station, Finch. Jesse closed his eyes, his vivid mind replaying the fight they had just won.

He never knew what hit him.

Billy hurried along the subway tracks, limping as fast as he could on half a foot. He had barely escaped with his life when Christine and over twenty vampires came through the door between the cars and began wholesale slaughter. Billy had been at the back of the train right by the door that opened to the next car. Although his blood cried out for him to fight until he dropped, a small amount of sanity made him turn and flee. Running through the cars with an evil looking vampire behind him, Billy stayed ahead long enough to reach the final car's back door. About to go through it, he hesitated long enough that the chasing vampire swung a long knife down and lopped off most of his right foot.

Billy had screeched and plunged through the back door, instinctively curling into a ball as he fell to the tracks and bounced painfully away from the speeding train. A few moments later, he was alone and trying to get as far away as possible. He knew these tracks, knew there was a secret exit not far away, but he had to get to it before the vampire who'd been chasing him caught up.

If that vampire had even jumped off the train himself. Just because there was no sign of pursuit, didn't mean that there wasn't any.

Billy stumbled to the side and frantically began looking for Selina's sign on the wall that indicated the hidden tunnel. A soft cry of relief echoed in the tunnels when his groping hands felt the pack sign. Pressing it, Billy fell into the suddenly opened tunnel and watched as it shut behind him.

_He was safe._

Billy dragged himself to his feet and started down the tunnel. He hadn't gone more than six feet when a voice and a commanding presence stopped him in his tracks.

He didn't remember the conversation afterwards, nor did he recall much of what happened to his pack. In fact, there wasn't much left of Billy anymore; there was only a single goal in his mind.

Get to the Island and into the Haven of the Shadow Dragons to take out as many as he possibly could.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Rat was curled up at her computer, looking for all the world like she was simply idly surfing the Internet. The skinny man who came up behind her, however, wasn't fooled.

"Still nothing?"

"No," Rat made a disgusted noise in her throat. "If someone is manipulating this Bishop race, they're doing a really good job of hiding it. No one in the Nos Net has a single clue."

The skinny man hooked a chair over with his leg and sat down. "I don't suppose it's possible that you're imagining things? That there's nothing behind all of this?"

Rat shot him a withering look. "Comments like that, Fraise, will get you demoted from being a Nos."

Fraise grinned and held up his hands peacefully. "Ok, ok. Point taken." He rubbed his chin for a moment. "All right, go through the signs again."

Rat sighed. "We've been through them eight times already."

"Humour me," Fraise encouraged his reluctant packleader. "Please?"

"Don't beg," Rat punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Sabbat don't beg and Nosferatu especially don't beg."

Fraise chuckled. "All right. The signs. I'll start. Billy's slaughter of Rod."

Rat nodded. "Basil and Selina dropping their Masks and getting phosphorous rounds loaded into them."

Fraise steepled his fingers together. "Brujah-Boy's decimation of Christine's pack."

"That was expected," Rat pointed out. "It was the fact that he didn't immediately go down and take out Shelley that was weird. Sources say that he and his pack were barely touched so he should have continued on and wiped out Shelley as well."

"Yeah, she only had herself and Kieran, plus a bunch of newly made Childer. She would have been a piece of cake to take out."

Rat frowned. "Why didn't he do it then? Why did he back off and leave her?"

Fraise shook his head. "That's what we have to figure out. Another thing is who released Vince's pet dragon?"

Rat thumped a hand down on her desk in frustration. "Damn it, I know that Vince had strong spells on that thing! Only the release code would have done it and even I couldn't find that out!"

"Somebody must have," Fraise pointed out. "Because somebody released him and now Vince and his whole pack are dead."

"Save for Gervais," Rat added.

"True, although I wouldn't be surprised if the dragon-thing is hunting him down now."

Rat barked a laugh. "Wouldn't that be a great way to get rid of that annoying Tremere?"

Fraise grinned. "What have you got against Gervais anyway?"

Rat sobered. "He wronged one of ours a long time ago and we Nos never forget."

Fraise cocked his head but Rat didn't elaborate. Fraise shrugged and continued. "All right, so a lot of those signs point to subtle interference from an outside source. They could also be coincidence."

"Explain," Rat demanded.

"Billy's slaughter of Rod," Fraise began. "Could easily have been Billy frenzying. He's had a grudge against Ysabel's pack forever anyway and with the heightened emotions of the Bishop race, it could have been enough to turn the tide. Billy is already unstable, it probably wouldn't take much."

Rat mused on that for a moment. "All right, I can accept that. Basil and Selina?"

"They were enjoying some time off and some nutcase decided to fry them."

"Flaw in your idea, Fraise," Rat pointed out. "Basil and Selina dropped their Masks in the middle of the dance floor. On that cue, the gunman opened fire with phosphorous rounds."

"Lots of people were killed," Fraise mentioned. "Not just Basil and Selina. We have no evidence that he was aiming for them in particular."

"The phosphorous rounds?"

"Coincidence?"

Rat chuckled. "Fraise, you've been a Nosferatu for how many years now?"

"About a hundred and fifty."

"Then you know that there's no such thing as coincidence. Everything can be eventually explained."

"Ok, ok," Fraise grumbled. "It still could have just happened, you know."

"Agreed," Rat shrugged. "Explain Brujah-Boy ignoring an easy target like Shelley."

"He didn't know that Shelley was an easy target?"

"Don't be stupid, Fraise," Rat punched him again. "Everyone heard about her attack on Drake and her pack being decimated. Hell, Jez was crowing all over the Toreador Link about it." She tapped her fingers on the desk. "Not to mention that it was in the Nos Net and Brujah-Boy's Nos, Mal, keeps up to date on it. They would have known."

Fraise thought for a moment. "Maybe he wasn't ready to attack more than Christine?"

"Brujah-Boy is always ready to fight," Rat reminded him. "You know how hard it is to get into his territory."

Fraise grumbled. "It's still not indicative of outside interference."

"All right, what about Vince and his pet dragon then?"

Fraise had a sudden illuminating thought. "Maybe it was Gervais who let him loose?"

Rat sat up, startled. "That would explain why Gervais wasn't killed. And why we haven't heard from him yet. He may have released the dragon then gone into hiding."

Fraise grinned. "Hah! I finally got one on you!"

"Don't rub it in," Rat warned him. "Doesn't happen often."

"But it does and it did, and I did it!"

"Keep on about it and I'll find another Templar."

Fraise grinned still. "You wouldn't dare. I'm your best fighter and you know it."

Rat shook her head and grinned back finally. "All right, all right. So maybe Gervais released the dragon. Let's do some research into that and see what we can come up with."

Fraise nodded. "And the rest?"

Rat began typing on her computer. "I still think there's outside interference, but I'm willing to accept the minute possibility that there isn't."

"Then my work here is done," Fraise climbed to his feet and sauntered away, turning back only once to his packleader. "Oh, and Rat?"

"What?"

"Told you so."

Rat threw a shoe at him.

Spiral and most of his pack were out at the edge of their territory in farm country. Ostensibly, they were out for a Nature Walk. That was where they caught as many things in nature as they could and dragged them behind them. This included people, animals, trees, rocks, and anything that could be made a pet, even for a moment.

In reality, however, they were looking for one of their pack who had wandered off earlier that evening muttering something about wanting a new toy. If it had been any of the pack save this one, Spiral probably would have just let him have his fun and figured he'd be back the next night. Unfortunately, this particular packmember was the Templar and Spiral needed What's Yours' fighting knowledge tonight.

"You sure you know where he went?" Spiral inquired of his priest, a short chubby Malkavian named, appropriately, Mumbo Jumbo.

"Me have pretty good idea," Mumbo Jumbo replied in his guttural caveman speech. It was annoying, but he was a pretty good priest and, after all, one of Spiral's goals in life was to annoy the Camarilla. Having an annoyance in the pack was a small price to pay when he was routinely unleashed on the Camarilla and you could hear the screams of anguish ten miles away.

"Where then?"

"He gone to farm," Mumbo Jumbo replied with authority.

Spiral rolled his eyes. "Yes, I gathered that. Which farm?"

"How should I know?" Mumbo Jumbo's speech turned high class British for a moment before a glazed look rolled over his face and he straightened. "Behold! Among the lights of the yard, a lone figure appears! He summons the Chosen One and all will be revealed there!"

Spiral blinked then threw back his head and howled. The rest of his pack enthusiastically joined him, including the two Nosferatu who ran with them. Having done the Vaulderie with the Malkavians so often, Candide and Aloysius tended to be half insane anyways.

"Cool," Spiral patted Mumbo Jumbo on the shoulder when the howling was done. "Well done. Good job. Bravo. Encore."

"No thanks, I'm not thirsty."

Spiral grinned and continued leading the way towards the nearest farm. The lights were still on in the yard and Spiral figured it was as good a place as any to start searching. What's Yours was generally pretty good about staying with the pack, but when he got an idea in his head, he had to follow through regardless of how inconvenient it was for his packleader.

They reached the farm and one of pack casually ate the barking farm dog that appeared. This particular farm had a high turnover rate of dogs for some reason.

Well, for a very good reason actually. Spiral licked his lips and grinned.

The pack fanned out, the better to search the outlying buildings and fields. Spiral stayed in the yard and began his own search. Naturally, he was the one who found the Malkavian Templar.

In the cow barn.

"What's Yours?" Spiral inquired, coming up behind the small, skinny figure that was whispering in the ear of a curious black and white heifer.

"Hallo?" What's Yours turned his brown sparking eyes in Spiral's direction. "Oh, Spiral. Me and Bessie here were just having a conversation."

"Is it a good one?" Spiral inquired.

"Oh, yes!" What's Yours nodded enthusiastically. "I was inviting her to become my Childe!"

Spiral blinked but shrugged. "Ok, why?"

What's Yours looked around conspiratorially. "I don't know if I should tell you."

Spiral whapped his Templar up the back of his head. "I'm your packleader. You have to tell me."

"Good point." What's Yours rubbed his head thoughtfully. "Well, you know all the problems they were having in Britain these last few years?"

Spiral cocked his head. "Yeah, so?"

"Well, I figured it wasn't fair for them to have all the fun."

Spiral slowly grinned. "So you think we should introduce a little of their culture into ours?"

"Yeah!" What's Yours bounced on his toes with excitement. "And who better to introduce Mad Cow disease than a Malkavian?"

Spiral laughed and summoned the rest of the pack. The Bishop race could wait. There were cows to be driven mad and only Spiral was up to doing it!

The shadows swirled around the room, with more agitation and excitement than had been show before. When the vampire approached, he was nearly knocked off of his feet by the rapidly moving shadows.

"Did you see?" the guttural voice came out of the black centre of the shadows, almost animated. "They have done beautifully, those two northern packs!"

"Yes, they've been wiped out completely," the vampire replied, admiration in his tone. "Jesse killed Ysabel, then Christine took out Jesse. Total annihilation."

"Almost, yes," the shadows settled a little, although smaller outer ones still twitched. "We are coming to the crunch now, oh yes. The final forces are moving together and soon we shall have the outcome we desire."

"And what might that be?" the vampire humble dared to ask.

"The positioning of my chosen in the ranks I need them in," the shadows replied. "Tell me now who is left as packleaders in the fair city of Toronto."

The vampire organized his thoughts. "Drake. Christine. Eugene. Shelley. Alleyne. Rat. Spiral. Windsor." He stopped, frowning. "Oh, and Genevieve."

"And who is fighting still?"

"Only four," the vampire nodded sharply. "Drake, Christine, Eugene and Shelley. The others have no interest in fighting. Or as in Windsor's case, they are under orders not to get involved."

"Yes, he is a nuisance, that one," the guttural voice growled a little. "He should not have left Christine's pack. He must be taken care of. But how, that is the question indeed."

The vampire waited, knowing that to speak would be dangerous, no matter what cleverness he may come up with. The shadows preferred to come up with their own plans.

"Ah yes, I have it. A little practice for someone I've been keeping an eye on. Yes, oh yes, just a little nudge and Windsor shall be problem no more." A shadow stroked over the clear surface before it. "Let us see where he is, shall we?"

The vampire nodded and edged forwards just enough to look into the watching globe.

Salem and Shannon were out on the town, keeping a low profile with Salem's judicious use of Cloaking them both invisible. It meant that Shannon had to be in contact with him – and Salem made sure that the contact was under his arm and with her arm wrapped around his waist – but it was the best way to give his protégé a taste of Sabbat life. Salem was really, really liking Shannon and was determined to keep her alive. Even if that meant staking her and stashing her somewhere until after Drake was safely Bishop.

Not sporting? Perhaps. But Shannon was learning Obtenebration extremely quickly and Salem liked her even more than the faithful, puppyish Ariel. Let Drake take over Ariel's training – he, Salem, was going to concentrate on his spitfire.

"You're going to love Maggie, Shannon," Salem told her. "She's a lot like you only without quite so many thorns."

"What thorns?" Shannon cracked a smile at him. They had been getting along a lot better with one on one training and she had softened considerably towards him. The Vaulderie that he performed privately with all of his Childer tempered the blood that Salem fed her, but there was true friendship growing between them.

"So where are we going?" Shannon inquired after awhile. She had been told they were going out to play, but not how.

"Up to one of my favourite clubs," Salem smiled back, running his hand along her upper arm. He'd persuaded her to wear a black silk tank top that strained over her chest and her bare, cold skin felt really good beneath his hand. "It's in what used to be Christine's territory, but since she's no longer using it, it should be safe enough."

"Should be?"

"Hey, the element of risk is what makes it so exciting," Salem winked at her and was rewarded with a laugh. Oh, yes, he liked this Childe of his! "Seriously though, it's run by an Anarch Brujah who kissed up to Meer so much that she granted him the bar as his exclusive territory."

"Meer is the Arch Bishop, right?" Shannon screwed up her face remembering. "Lasombra, like us."

"Yes, exactly," Salem nodded. "My Sire, like I am yours."

"So she's my Grandma?" Shannon's eyes twinkled.

Salem whooped a laugh. "I dare you to call her that to her face! Be ready to run though."

"I think I'll pass," Shannon chuckled. "I'd like to live a little longer. This is a lot more exciting than music history."

"Is that what you were studying in University?" Salem cocked his head. "Maggie will like you even more. She's a musician too. Singer. I think she plays some instruments too, but she mostly just sings now."

"She's Lasombra too?"

"No, didn't I mention it?" Salem shook his head. "She's of the Clan Nosferatu. We haven't got any in the pack right now, not since Shadow left. I keep hoping he and Damian will come back." Salem's voice turned dejected. "I liked that Malk."

"Malk?"

Salem gave her a rundown of the Clans that he could remember as they continued along their way. When Maggie returned from Nova Scotia, he'd ask her to continue Shannon's education. Salem just knew that Maggie would like her. He hoped she would. He also hoped that Maggie would be interested in a three way Kiss.

The club was hopping with Toronto nightlife when they arrived. Dropping the Cloak, Salem bypassed the line, ignoring the muttering from those anxiously waiting, and stopped in front of the bouncer who barred his way.

"End of the line, Goth boy," the bouncer said in a bored tone.

"I don't think so," Salem replied, smiling with his fangs in full view.

The bouncer blinked, his eyes widening before he stepped aside and waved them through. The mortals waiting in the line protested, but Shannon heard nothing once they got past the front door.

Inside, it was huge and dark, with flashing lights speeding over the dance floor, pulsing in time to the music. Salem heightened his eyes a little, enough to see in the darkness, not enough to be blinded by the lights. Holding Shannon's hand tightly, he wove in and around the crowds of people arriving finally at one of the several counters spaced throughout the big building.

"Do you want a drink?" Salem yelled into Shannon's ear over the heavy bass they could feel right into their bones.

Shannon looked startled and Salem winked at her. "Sure."

Salem rapped on the bar and a pretty girl in a skin-tight outfit glided over and smiled at them. "Two Brujah specials."

The girl nodded and moved to a single tap under the counter off by itself. A thick dark liquid cascaded into two plastic cups and when they were filled, the girl set them in front of Salem and Shannon. "Two fifty each."

Salem dug a ten dollar bill out of his jeans and pushed it at her. "Keep the change, doll."

The girl smiled and moved away while Shannon and Salem settled onto barstools, their backs to the counter.

"This is a neat place," Shannon commented.

"When times were quieter, we used to hang out here a lot," Salem replied, feeling hunger stirring in him at the sight of the masses of bodies gyrating to the music. They'd eaten along the way, but there was always room in Salem's stomach for more. He took a sip of his drink. Lukewarm. Ah well.

Shannon sipped at her drink as well and made a face. "I really prefer it hot."

"As do I," Salem drained his and set the plastic, stained cup on the counter. "Wanna dance?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Shannon grinned, sliding off her stool.

They moved onto the dance floor and Salem began proving that regardless of how old he was, he still knew how to dance. Shannon followed his lead and soon the two were happily bouncing off other people and enjoying themselves tremendously.

Salem had just copped a feel of a very young teenager when he felt a hand descend upon and clasp his shoulder with brutal strength. Salem frowned and his hand flashed up to grip the wrist while he spun to break the contact.

The lean, dangerous face close to his wasn't wearing a very friendly expression.

"Salem," the man spat.

"Windsor," Salem replied in kind.

"What are you doing here?" Windsor inquired, steel in his tone.

"Dancing, asshole, what do you think?" Salem inquired. He looked around to sneak a peek at Shannon and saw her with her arms being held by Jenni and Frieda, the two others who had left the Blood Ravens with Windsor. His eyes went flat. "Let her go."

"Why? She's a tasty morsel and will feed Jenni well." Windsor licked his lips. "And you'll feed me equally well."

Salem let a grin spread over his face. "You honestly think you can stand up to me, Windsor? God, you're pathetic."

Windsor snarled. "You're the pathetic one, Salem! Hanging on the coat tails of a fucking useless Nosferatu; do you lick up her slime when she tells you to? You're even more pathetic than she is."

Salem's grin never faded. "You aren't worthy to lick up her slime, you mucous-laden piece of sheep shit. And do you know what happens when you insult Maggie?"

"I think of a better insult and do it again?" Windsor laughed.

"No," Salem laughed gently. "You die."

His hand still gripping Windsor's wrist, Salem brought it down swiftly and his knee up at the same time. The audible crack of Windsor's forearm couldn't be heard by anyone but the two of them over the music.

Windsor managed not to yelp and Salem felt shadows gripping his ankles and yanking. He tried to keep his balance, but they pulled him down and Salem landed in the crowd of dancers. Most turned to look, then most moved away when Windsor snarled at them.

Salem's hold on the other Lasombra's wrist was broken, but there was nothing wrong with his feet. Scissoring them, he toppled Windsor to the ground with him then kip-upped to his feet. Whistling a happy tune, Salem stomped down towards Windsor's chest.

Windsor spun on the ground out of the way and leapt to his feet. Murderous intent on his face, he started towards Salem when the music suddenly stopped and a voice came over the speakers.

"**I know who you two are and if you don't take this outside immediately, I'll eat you myself."**

"Whoops," Salem looked around, but saw only a shadowy figure in the DJ's booth. "I'll see you later, Windsor. Dead of course, but later."

"No, I'm hungry now," Windsor snarled back. "Fuck that stupid Brujah! I'm taking you down, Salem!"

Salem held up his hands, darting glances towards the shadowed Brujah. "Windsor, he's Anarch. And even Meer is respectful to him. You really want to risk pissing him off even more?"

"I could have taken Meer," Windsor growled. "I should have taken Meer instead of just leaving."

Salem stared at him and couldn't help laughing. "Have you gone completely insane? You couldn't take Meer if you had another three hundred years in your age!"

"I could take Meer," Windsor insisted, circling Salem who was keeping an eye on him, but keeping his hands up where the Brujah could see them. "And I will take you and celebrate with a blood orgy in this bar! This is _my_ territory now that Christine is dead! Mine! I claim the rights of the Blood Ravens and I will be Bishop! _I will reign supreme!"_

Salem shook his head sadly. "You been lunching on Malkavians all night? Damn, you're freakin' me out here. I always thought you were a fairly sensible member of the Clan."

"You're going to die, Salem," Windsor hissed between his teeth. "And I'm going to enjoy sucking every last fucking drop out of you."

Salem sighed and looked helplessly at the Brujah. He didn't want to die, but he also didn't want to piss off the powerful Anarch. Salem was a good fighter, a strong fighter, but he was, when it came down to it, only sixty years a vampire. He was pretty certain that he could take Windsor, but the Anarch? Probably not.

_Lure him to the back room,_ a voice sounded suddenly in Salem's head. It wasn't a voice that he recognized, but it was one he was happy to obey.

_Thanks, kemo sabe!_

Salem turned and darted through the crowd, heading towards the back room that he knew would be empty. It was usually used as a gathering place for those who were not mortal, and Salem had been there for a few rousing parties with the Blood Ravens once upon a time. Not any more, of course.

Which reminded him of how stupid this whole Bishop fight was.

Salem shook his head, using shadows pulled up behind him unobtrusively along the floor to keep Windsor's more blatant shadows at bay. He made it to the back room and a second later, Windsor was there as well.

Salem turned to face him. "All right, dickhead. Let's party."

Salem and Windsor circled, feeling each other out, waiting for an opening. Shadows moved and writhed along the floor, reaching for their opponents and being subdued by their enemies. Salem's shadows were more powerful; he knew that from the feel of Windsor's. But Windsor could control more at one time and Salem's concentration was being diverted trying to keep them from snaring him again.

"So, Windsor, what's new?" Salem inquired, figuring that diversions could work in other ways.

"Other than that I'm about to kill you, not much," Windsor replied.

Salem shrugged. "All righty then."

Windsor made the first physical attack, slashing at Salem with a knife that appeared from his sleeve. Salem, who was unarmed, jumped back, barely missing getting cut. Windsor swore and lunged again. Salem ducked under his guard and slammed a Potence-backed fist into the other Lasombra's stomach. Windsor went reeling backwards.

Salem sent blood burning through his legs and whirled, sending one lightning fast foot out to catch Windsor's ankle. Windsor went down in a tumble, flat on his back.

Before he could get up, Salem sent the blood singing through his body again and leapt on top of the fallen Lasombra, snatching the knife from Windsor's stunned fingers.

"Don't ever insult my lady again," Salem told him before he drew the knife firmly across Windsor's throat, decapitating him in one swift movement.

Windsor's body shivered between Salem's legs then collapsed into dust. Salem heaved an unnecessary breath into his withered lungs, then stood up. Turning to go back to the dance floor to deal with the other two, he walked smack into the barrel chest of a man who towered over him by almost a foot.

"Oof," Salem grunted, back pedaling a few steps. Looking up, he tried a cocky grin. "Howdy! Nice place."

"I warned you not to kill in my club," the pale-faced Brujah Anarch growled at him.

"Um, no, actually, you said that if we didn't take it outside, you'd eat us," Salem's photographic memory came in handy sometimes. "We brought it into this room like you asked me to."

"I never asked you to bring it here," the Brujah informed him, his huge fists clenching a little.

Salem's eyebrows did a fast climb to his hairline. "Excuse me? You talked in my head, told me to take it back here."

"I never asked you to bring it here," the Brujah repeated and took a menacing step towards Salem. "Now you will die like the other one for violating my club!"

Salem yelped and did the only thing that came to mind. Barrelling forwards, he rammed straight into the Brujah with all the Potent strength he could manage.

He bounced off. The Brujah didn't seem to have noticed. One hand reached out and grabbed Salem by the throat, lifting him up off his feet.

Salem's eyes widened and before his vocal cords were completely cut off, he managed to cry out, "SLEEP!"

The Brujah dropped like a stone, letting go of Salem's neck in the process.

Salem managed to stay standing and stared down at the Brujah in shock. "Caine on a pogo stick, it actually worked."

He looked around. "Ok, I think it's time to borrow a phrase from one of my favourite cartoon animals."

He lifted his leg in front of him into the classic stance. "Exit, stage left."

Out on the dance floor, Salem knew he had about ten minutes to find Shannon and the other two before the Brujah woke up. He personally wanted to be well away from this place by then. Closing his eyes for a moment, he concentrated on the Vaulderie link that he had with Shannon.

There was nothing there.

Frowning, Salem began an urgent search of the room and it took him less than a minute to find what he was looking for.

Shannon was stretched out on the bar and both Jenni and Frieda had their fangs buried into her, draining her to a very dead, white husk.

Salem's Beast roared out of its cage and the club was bathed in the blood of not only a lot of mortals, but two young, terrified vampires as well.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

"Got it," Jez crowed, pushing her chair away from the computer in triumph. "Drake!"

Drake strode over. "Show me."

Jez pointed to the screen, scrolling down over the information she had just pulled up. "Christine is on the move. We have a confirmed sighting of her and her new pack heading south on the subway."

"But where is she going?" Drake demanded. "She's itching for a fight, that's obvious, but with whom?"

"Who else?" Jez smiled. "She's going to take her revenge on the one that took out her pack."

"Brujah-Boy," Drake hissed through his teeth. "But are we sure? He's strong and she knows it. Why wouldn't she go for a pack that is just as new as hers, and hope that I go after Brujah-Boy?"

Drake rubbed his chin for a moment.

"Salem, front and centre."

Salem came over, the bounce gone from his step. He was still angry over what had happened to Shannon the night before and the entire pack, save for Drake himself, had been walking softly around him all evening. "Yes?"

"If you were Christine, what would you be doing right now?"

Salem's smile was cold. "Killing myself to save the Shadow Dragon's the effort."

Drake didn't hit him, although he took the crack to mean that Salem was recovering from his loss. "Seriously, asshole."

Salem's smile thawed a little. "My asshole is never serious anymore, Drake. You of all people should know that." He winked, reminding the packleader of the threesomes they and Maggie often got into. "All right, all right. If I were Christine the packleader, what would I do to remain in the running to be Bishop."

Salem chewed on his lips a little. "Chrissie is fairly smart. She knows that of the four serious contenders, two have their original packs and two have new packs. Since she is a new pack, it would make sense for her to attack the other new pack. That way she has a much better chance to survive. Chances are, she's expecting you to go after Brujah-Boy, or for him to come after us. One of you wipes out the other, leaving her as one of the final two. Her odds increase by having a blooded pack, plus she may plan on trying to recruit a defeated Shelley into helping her fight."

Drake nodded with a smile. "Thank you for reminding me of why I made you Lieutenant, Salem."

Salem bowed. "Anytime, Sahib."

Drake chuckled and looked around at the pack who was hovering, waiting for word from him as to their activities tonight.

"All right, pack, I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired of sitting around and doing nothing."

The pack began grinning all around him. They knew what was coming.

"What say we go into the city and kick some Tzimisce butt?"

Pandemonium.

Salem laughed, his eyes still a little haunted by the loss of Shannon, but his whole attitude rapidly improving. "You really know how to throw a party, Drake!"

"Damned straight," Drake replied smugly, waving an arm at Giselle who trotted over. "Give us a strength and stamina ritual, sexy. And make it to go. I want Shelley taken out tonight!"

Giselle nodded and went off to fetch her equipment. Salem sidled over to Drake when the packleader beckoned him closer.

"Tell me why we're going after Shelley instead of Brujah-Boy," Drake invited him.

Salem grinned. "Because Christine is expecting you to go after Idiot-Boy while she tries to take out Shelley. We have a full original pack, plus three night old Childer that have been spending every waking hour learning how to fight. We sweep up, even if we're out numbered, we still have the stronger pack. We should be able to take out both Christine and Shelley in one fell swoop."

Drake clapped Salem on the shoulder. "That's my Salem."

Christine took the subway past Shelley's turf, all the way into Drake's. She reasoned that the Shadow Dragon's wouldn't be on the mainland yet tonight and that it would be a lot easier to sneak up on Shelley from below than above.

Her pack was pumped. Mostly brand new Childer, they were eager to test their new powers out in a battle. Christine fully expected to lose most of them, but that was why she had Embraced so many. The one Nosferatu in the group, a wandering recluse that Christine had recruited, had proven adept at finding out what Shelley's numbers were and their usual training ground. Christine had Embraced enough to outnumber her pack by ten and that should be enough to give her the win over the skinny, teenaged Tzimisce.

Especially since most of her pack were Brujah and most of Shelley's were Gangrel. In Christine's opinion, any one of her Brujah could take out three of Shelley's scruffy puppies.

Up on the street, Christine led her pack north towards Shelley's training ground, a public school several blocks west of Yonge Street, not that far from the edge of Brujah-Boy's turf. Shelley had invited the Blood Ravens to spar with her pack once long before when they were still on friendly terms. That gesture was going to prove to be Shelley's downfall.

"Bunny!" Christine called over her shoulder and one of the few packmembers who hadn't been newly Embraced, hurried forward.

"Yes, packleader?" the tall, heavy girl inquired. She was Lasombra and had strong ambitions to lead her own pack. Christine had found her staked in the basement of Vince's destroyed haven and had bound the girl to her before unstaking her. It had turned out the Bunny had had a bet with Vince about something and had lost, thus resulting in being staked for his amusement and experiments. Free, Bunny agreed to run with Christine and help her in exchange for Christine's support in founding her own pack. Christine had agreed, of course – having a Lasombra with excellent shadow control in the pack was not something to turn one's nose up at. Besides, Bunny could Embrace several more Childer, giving Christine the diversity that she wanted in the Blood Ravens. Some packs stuck to their own Clans. Meer had always maintained that a strong fighting force came from diversity and the Blood Ravens had, with the possible exception of the Shadow Dragons, always been the strongest fighting force.

Now, Christine needed the Lasombra's shrewd mind. "Shelley and her pack will most likely be in the playground. Where do you suggest that we hit them?"

Bunny raked her short black hair off of her forehead. "Any chance we can get into the school and attack them from the one direction they probably won't be expecting?"

"Unlikely," Christine replied. "The school is a one level with the gymnasium out back as sort of an off-shoot. The playground is nestled in the "L" of the building. There's a field on the other side, but Shelley likes to play on the monkey bars and stuff."

Bunny's eyebrows went up. "What Clan did you say she was?"

"Tzimisce."

"Jesus, she's nothing like any Tzimisce I've ever heard of."

Christine grinned. "She's been sixteen for hundreds of years. Probably hard to be as stuffy and cold as the rest of the Tzimisce when you never got rid of the teenaged angst."

Bunny laughed. "All right, we can come around the building on either side, yes?"

"Or over the fence at the back, although that's all open and we'll be seen."

Bunny considered. "What about coming over the top?"

Christine slowly smiled. "Clever. Very, very clever. Let's do it."

Bunny went back to pass the plan along to the rest of the eager pack.

His given name was Eugene Mortimer Feldstein, but woe betide anyone foolish enough to call him that to his face. In the gang he'd run with in England back in the nineteen hundreds before they called them gangs, he was just called Gene. Then, he was Embraced in a run by attack from an Anarch Brujah and he decided that "Gene" wasn't appropriate for the killing machine he now was.

Eugene went through a number of name changes, which probably accounted for his current nickname. When no one could keep up with what he wanted to be called – and when you called him the wrong name, you ran the risk of being torn limb from limb – most people simply called him Brujah-Boy. It certainly fit, as Eugene had fallen in with a Sabbat pack made up entirely of Brujah and he firmly believed that to be Brujah meant to be the biggest, fastest, strongest fighter in the entire sect.

Eugene made it his goal to become that and here he was, barely two hundred years later, the iron-fisted ruler of his own pack in one of the most prestigious hunting grounds in North America.

His pack called him "Packleader". Everyone else called him Brujah-Boy. In his own mind, he simply was. Introductions were never necessary, since he never let anyone onto his turf. Intruders were treated in one of two ways; they were either incorporated into the pack or they were killed outright. Only the Bishop ever had free reign to approach him and live and that was only because Eugene respected authority. His reasoning was that they were Bishop because they could fight better than he could. Once he could fight well enough to challenge, he would.

Now, he had his chance. He knew in his own mind that he was stronger than that whiny bitch Christine. After all, he'd been packleader for years, while she'd only just been elevated.

He knew that he was stronger than Shelley; after all, Tzimisce were good for Rituals and making amusing living toys for the pack. They weren't fighters and they shouldn't be packleaders. Shelley needed to be taught that and Eugene was just the one to do it.

As for Drake, well, Eugene was pretty damned sure that even though Drake was older, there was no way that a mere Lasombra could stand up to a Brujah with a full mad on.

Eugene cracked his knuckles with an evil grin and looked over his augmented pack, his eyes picking out his Lieutenant, Dayna, who was teaching the new recruits some of the dirty tricks she employed in her Gangrel fighting style.

Oh, yes, it was going to be a good night and at the end of it, he, Eugene Mortimer Feldstein, the original Brujah-Boy, was going to be Bishop.

Shelley was doing a training exercise, her sentries posted carefully around the building. She wasn't stupid. She knew that there was a good chance she could be attacked at any moment by any of the three remaining packs. She was ready for them, but she wasn't about to expend energy trying to track them down. Oh no. Let them come to her, where they would be on her turf and under her terms. She had trained her pack here, they knew how to use the playground equipment to their best advantage. They had a chance to win and Shelley wasn't going to jeopardise that by travelling.

"Kieran," she beckoned to the older Gangrel who was watching two of his Childer work together on a move that would render Lasombra shadows inoperable.

"Yes, packleader?" Kieran loped over attentively.

"You have sentries posted in all possible places of entry to here?"

"Of course," Kieran nodded, not insulted by her question. She was the packleader; it was her duty to make certain that everything was set. "Both corners of the main building, along the back fence and at every sewer entrance I could find."

"You blocked the ones inside the school, right?"

"Yes, two weeks ago," Kieran replied. "I checked them tonight, they are undisturbed. Quite honestly, no one involved in the Bishop race has a decent enough Nosferatu in their pack right now to find the hidden ways to the school's sewer system anyway. Maggie could have done it, but she's in Nova Scotia. Salem's been taught some things, but I doubt he's advanced enough to understand the sewers like his Sire does."

Shelley looked around, then up. "What about the roof?"

Kieran smiled. "Of course I have one on the roof."

Before Shelley could answer, there was a heavy thud from the other side of the building.

"Had one on the roof," Shelley shook her head. "We have company."

Kieran put two fingers into his mouth and whistled the alert code shrilly. It echoed through the playground and Shelley's pack immediately converged on them, their eyes roaming everywhere looking for the danger that was approaching.

"Remember," Kieran told them swiftly, his eyes watching the grounds. "No one touches the packleader! This is not a free for all fight; this is a packleader only fight. We are here to keep the rest of the rabble off of Shelley while she makes mincemeat out of the other packleader. Ready?"

"Ready!" the pack yelled exuberantly and Shelley permitted herself a very small grin.

"Then go get 'em!" Kieran roared, pointing to the roof where several vampires had appeared and were starting to leap down.

Shelley stayed back while the intruders rushed towards her eager pack. She didn't recognise any of them and that made her believe that it had to be Christine's pack. Sure enough, the last one over the building was Christine herself, brandishing a length of pipe and snarling.

"Come on, Chrissie," Shelley invited under her breath. "Come to me so I can make you pretty."

Shelley didn't have long to wait. Christine ignored the enthusiastic fighting around her and came straight to Shelley, stopping beyond arms-length from the skinny Tzimisce.

"Shelley," Christine nodded once.

"Christine," Shelley nodded politely back.

"I want Bishop," Christine continued, her eyes boring into Shelley's from behind her sunglasses.

"So do I," Shelley replied evenly. "And I'm willing to fight for it."

Christine nodded. "As am I." The challenge had been thrown and accepted. "As challenged, you have your choice of locale."

Shelley jerked her head towards the school. "My pack knows to stay away from us while we fight, but they can be exuberant. I suggest inside."

Christine smiled. "I agree. Mine too might get carried away if they think they can get a free shot in on a packleader."

"The gymnasium," Shelley decided. "Just you and me."

"Private party or can anybody join?"

Both packleaders whirled on the person who had just appeared beside them.

"Salem," Christine was surprised and the Lasombra Lieutenant bowed, his eyes on both of them carefully. "You have no part in this fight."

"Not in your fight, no," Salem agreed. "But I'm looking forward to playing with your packs." He smiled with anticipation. "Christine, you should thank me."

Christine's eyes narrowed. "What for?"

"Why, for ridding you of Windsor and his little pack," Salem replied airily.

"You killed all three of them?" Christine was impressed. All three were older than Salem.

"Naturally." Salem buffed his fingernails on the front of his trench coat. "Easy as pie."

"Stop bragging, asshole," Drake came up behind him. "And go join the rest of the fight. I don't want any interruptions while I take care of these two."

Shelley hissed. "It is you who will be taken care of, Drake."

"Uh-huh," Drake rolled his eyes. "Come on, let's get the three of us somewhere that we can sort this out once and for all. The gymnasium open, Shelley?"

The Tzimisce nodded then suddenly looked to the side where whoops and hollers could be heard coming into the playground.

"And there's the last of us," Drake nodded in satisfaction, watching Brujah-Boy and his pack came snarling into the playground. "I figured he'd show up here. Especially after I had a few strong hints dropped to his Nos."

The pack zoomed past the three gathered packleaders and leapt into the fray behind them. Brujah-Boy came up to them, stopping warily out of reach.

"Good evening," Drake said urbanely to him. "Welcome to the final fight of the Toronto Bishop Race. Your opponents this evening are Shelley, the permanently angst-ridden Tzimisce; Christine, the newly elevated recently wiped out Brujah; and myself, the devastatingly handsome and incredibly daring Lasombra."

"Shut the fuck up, Drake," Brujah-Boy growled. "Let's get this done."

"We're going into the gymnasium," Drake replied politely. "Care to join us?"

"You are such an asshole," Christine told Drake witheringly.

"Hey!" Salem's voice came floating across the playground to them. "That's _my_ nickname!"

There was a moment of silence, then both Drake and Christine started snickering. Shelley permitted herself another smile and even Brujah-Boy's lips twitched in amusement.

"Remind me to hit him later," Drake commented to Christine who nodded, giggling. "Come on, guys, let's get this over with. There are duties waiting for the new Bishop and the longer we take to decide this, the more there will be. Whoever ends up as Bishop won't appreciate having to work for the next ten years just to catch up on this past week."

"Agreed," Shelley put in. "Let's go."

She led the way into the school, Drake and Christine following her, Brujah-Boy bringing up the rear suspiciously. Once inside, they traversed the short hallway that opened up into the large gymnasium.

It was rectangular in shape and mostly empty floor. To one side was a ten-foot by ten-foot metal climbing wall, built like a grid with each space too small for more than one foot to be in it. Crossbeams along the thirty-foot ceiling had ropes tied to them, twelve stout lines that were neatly pulled to each wall and tied to thick metal rings for that purpose. Six on each side, they had a knot at the bottom of every one, obviously to aid in climbing them.

Two doors, both double sets, led out of the gymnasium at either end. One into the school that they had come through and one thoroughly chained that led outside. It was sparse, as befitted a school like this, but it would serve its purpose.

"All right," Drake took charge again once Shelley had closed the door behind them. "Do we want to do this two on two or just one pitched 'every man for himself' battle?"

Brujah-Boy cracked his knuckles and grinned viciously. "I can take you all on."

Drake looked at Christine and Shelley who both nodded, looking eager.

"All right, one pitched battle it is." He looked around for a moment, then back at his opponents. His face serious, he bowed. "May the best packleader win to lead this city as Bishop."

Brujah-Boy bowed as well while Christine and Shelley curtseyed, all three saying in unison, "May the best packleader win."

Drake turned and headed for a corner, the other three going to their own. Once there, Drake stopped, turned and sent a rush of blood singing through his body.

"For the Sabbat!" he roared and was echoed by the other three as the final fight for Bishop officially began.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

Billy got off the ferry by the expedient method of being carried by a mortal. Burying his face in the woman's shoulder, he wasn't noticed nor recognised by any of the watchers on the Island. The woman thought that she was taking him to the Aid station, since he had started crying for his 'Mommy' who obviously wasn't on the boat. Billy had other plans. Once they were out of sight, he bit into her neck and drank her down until she collapsed onto the soft grass.

Feeling better with the rich blood in him, Billy set off towards the amusement park. He knew that there was more than one entrance into the haven – that was standard procedure in the Sabbat – but chances are every single one would be trapped to the hilt. The only one that might not be trapped so well would be the main entrance that the pack used regularly.

Billy's only problem was that he had no idea where that was.

Although every pack in Toronto had, at one time or another, been to the Island to play or meet, no one but the Shadow Dragons had ever been in the Haven. Usually Havens were communal, offering sanctuary and protection to any Sabbat, but Drake guarded his jealously. Having a crafty bitch like Maggie to plan the traps ensured that no one was going to get in without express permission.

Billy was determined to try.

More, Billy was determined to succeed because he had a plan that he was sure would work.

Walking through the park, Billy finally crested the hill that overlooked the carousel and the start of Centreville. Something that was well known among the Toronto Sabbat was Maggie's fierce protection of the antique carousel. She made sure that it was taken care of, even setting the low packmember on the totem pole to scrubbing it down whenever she thought it needed it.

Logically, Billy figured that the main entrance to the haven was probably somewhere nearby, if not actually within the carousel building itself. Why else would she protect it so?

The sense of being watched prickled Billy's mind and he whirled suddenly, causing the fierce-faced Childe sneaking up on him to back a step in surprise and dismay.

"Who are you and how did you get on the Island?" the Childe demanded, fledgling shadows moving around his feet a testimony to his Clan.

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell ya no lies," Billy replied with a snarl. "Don't interfere with me, Shadow-Baby, because I'll fuckin' mop the floor with ya."

The man looked incredulous. "You're only what, five years old? I could have taken you out when I was mortal, let alone now!"

Billy's eyes narrowed. "Ya think so, do ya? Dumbass. Yer not worth my time."

The Lasombra Childe shook his head. "All right, kiddie, the park's closed to everyone but the pack. Let's go, back to the ferry. I don't know how you got past us, but you're going right back to Toronto."

Billy's eyes went flat. "Last person who called me 'kiddie' was dinner two minutes later. You just lost the right to live, buddy-boy."

Billy jumped, Potence and Celerity burning the blood through him as he attacked. The Childe never stood a chance against the vicious little Brujah. Within twenty seconds, Billy had his fangs deep into the Lasombra's throat and was draining the potent blood in rapturous swallows.

"Oh, God," Billy moaned as he realised that this blood was closer to Caine then his own. In ecstasy, he drank and drank until at last the Childe's whimpering soul dissolved into the Brujah's body and Billy felt the strength of a full generation speed through him. It was enough to drive the little Brujah to his hands and knees, his face buried into the ground to try and muffle to howl that escaped.

It was fifteen minutes before Billy recovered enough to move and he felt revitalised like never before. Jesse hadn't ever let him diablerise anyone and this was Billy's first experience with the sensation.

It was incredible and for a moment, Billy considered seeking out the other Childer that were sure to be on the Island for the pleasure of doing this again.

His mind wrenched and Billy howled again, this time with pain. Falling to his knees once more, this time his hands landed on the white corpse of the drained Childe. The pain finally easing, Billy sat up, the Childe's body in front of him and as he watched the mouth of the very dead Childe opened and began to speak.

"Go to the haven," it intoned in a raspy voice. "Go at once. Time to play later, but you must go now if you wish to succeed."

"But I don't know where it is," Billy wailed, the pent up frustrations of childhood catching up to him.

"Think," the corpse whispered, falling still again. "Think."

Billy thought. Scratching his head, he stood up and turned a slow circle, his eyes not seeing anything as his mind churned. Memories not his own crowded his brain and suddenly the image of a roller coaster flashed. Billy gasped. Another image flashed, this time a steel ladder descending into darkness. A sense of terror, a sense of utter obedience, a sense of relief.

Billy started walking, his eyes fixated on a point he as yet could not see. Feet moving almost of their own accord, he wove through the park until at last he stood before the small roller coaster that was so loved by the mortal children in the summertime.

_Yes._ The voice in Billy's mind could have been his own, and Billy unhesitatingly climbed up the stairs to the loading platform. In the very centre, a panel that looked like every other panel lifted under his questing fingers and Billy saw the steel ladder dropping into blackness below.

Now he hesitated. He had found the entrance – or one of them – yet caution made him pause. Nosferatu traps lurked unseen in the darkness and Billy knew that most if not all would be lethal even to a Fortitude-laden Brujah.

What was he to do? He had to go down, there was no choice. He needed to get into the haven. There were things that had to be done so that certain people were eliminated. Or was it tested? Billy was unsure and only half thinking on his own.

A movement in the distance decided him. He didn't want to waste time with another distraction, not when he was this close to his goal. Somehow he knew that only one vampire waited below in the haven and he, Billy the Kid, could easily take out one. Quickly, carefully, Billy started down the ladder, letting the platform piece close above him.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness with surprising ease and soon he had a dim, but decent view of his surroundings. The vertical tunnel that he was in was close, but as he neared the bottom, it opened up into a room with a corridor leading off. Billy stayed on the ladder's bottom rung and scanned the floor.

He had to laugh mentally, not daring to make a sound, but amused all the same. There was a visibly worn path that skewed about the room, obviously beaten by several pairs of feet until it was blatantly obvious what route was needed to avoid the traps. Billy chuckled and did the little hop to the left to land on the beginning of the track. Following it easily, he finally entered the corridor and continued to walk the welcoming trail.

Nothing happened to him, and he didn't expect that anything would. A soft chitter to one side of the tunnel made him jump slightly, but it was only a rat, looking up at him incuriously. Billy smiled nastily and sent a surge of blood to power his Celerity as he kicked the rat. It made a satisfying splat against the wall and oozed blood and internal organs down the stones.

"That'll learn ya," Billy taunted the dead rodent and continued on his way, walking boldly into the dimly lit oval room at the end of the corridor. "Honey! I'm home!"

As he had known, only one vampire was in the room, sitting upright on the couch with a look of terror in her eyes.

"Well, well, well," Billy drawled, taking a casual stance against the wall. "Hello, Kelly. Are y'all alone?"

"Billy," Kelly whispered, her voice shaking. She'd been a vampire for nearly a hundred years now, but she could no more stand up to the little Brujah then a mortal could to her. Add the fact that she was missing one leg made her situation even more desperate.

"Ya remember me!" Billy smiled at her mockingly. "I'm pleased. Truly."

"What do you want?" Kelly managed to ask.

"Yer blood singin' through my veins, sweet thang," Billy grinned toothily. "Then I'm gonna make sure that most of yer pack meets Satan when they get home from fightin'."

"I'll stop you," Kelly threatened, but the threat was hollow and Billy knew it.

"Somehow, I don't think so," Billy shook his head sorrowfully. "Why not make it easy for me and just tilt yer head to one side?"

"Fuck you, you stunted, immature piece of shit," Kelly hissed at him, trying to call the shadows to her command. They were weak – the room didn't have enough light to throw the sharp contrasts that made the shadows stronger – and they collapsed almost immediately.

"Temper, temper," Billy chided her, although his eyes had flashed with anger at the 'stunted' comment.

"My temper is just fine," Kelly growled at him, determined to get in a few verbal insults before she went down. _If_ she went down. _Always think positive_. "Yours is probably pretty shitty though. I mean, how hard has it been to go through two hundred years as a six year old? Hmmm? To know that no one's ever gonna take you seriously 'cause you're just a kid. No matter how long you live, you'll always be just a baby to everyone. That's pretty pathetic, Billy." Kelly shook her head in mock-sorrow. "I really pity you sometimes. The rest of the time I just think that you got what you deserved."

"Watch it," Billy snapped at her, his eyes flashing with rage. "Just watch yer tongue ya lyin' bitch or I'm gonna cut it outta ya."

"Yeah," Kelly went on blithely as if she hadn't even heard him. "Must be tough knowing too that no matter how good you are, you're never gonna be more than a grunt 'cause what pack is gonna follow you? How embarrassing!" She shuddered delicately. "I know I would want to be in a pack led by someone who's barely out of diapers. Hey, Billy, you still shit blood in your pants every now and then? A lot of six year olds do, you know."

"You scum-sucking, ass-licking, camel-fucking maggot!" Billy swore at her, really pissed off now. "I'm gonna rip off yer head and spit down the hole!"

Kelly was about to say something else when her eyes widened and moved to something behind Billy. Billy frowned when her lips curved up slightly and she started to laugh.

"What's so funny, bitch?" he demanded.

Kelly just shook her head, laughing helplessly on the couch.

"Are you laughin' at me?" Billy yowled, outraged. "Are ya? I'll fuckin' teach you a god damned lesson!"

Billy took a step forwards towards her then stopped as Kelly shook her head violently, still laughing, and managed to shakily point behind him. Billy growled and turned to look, suspicious but figuring that Kelly couldn't attack him without the use of her leg.

Fully expecting to see another member of the Shadow Dragons behind him, Billy's jaw dropped and his eyes went wide when he finally did see exactly what Kelly was laughing at.

Rats.

Lots of rats.

Rats overflowing the doorway and crouched all along the floor everywhere that Billy could see. The floor was gone, only a seething mass of rats stared unblinking directly at Billy.

"Oh, say can you see," Kelly sang softly, and triumph was in her voice. "By the rats' glowing eyes…"

Billy backed towards her a step, his eyes fearfully on the multitude before him. Then, he stopped.

They were rats! Only rats! Sure, there were a lot of them, but he was Billy the Kid, the strongest, fastest, best Brujah in the entire world and he could handle a few fucking rats!

Roaring in challenge, Billy sprang forward towards the sharp-toothed horde and the last thing he heard in this world was the sound of Kelly's laughter echoing through the haven.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

Salem was supposed to be happily fighting the other packs. As Lieutenant, he should have been slaughtering with pleasure. As a Lasombra, one of the leaders of the Sabbat, he should have been organizing the Shadow Dragons cannon fodder to best take advantage of the whole situation and terrain.

As the smart assed Childe of a nosey Nosferatu, Salem was doing none of these things. He was hoisted up by the outside doors to the gym watching the action inside with avid interest.

"Hey Goth freak," Spike's voice came from behind him.

"Hey biker bitch," Salem replied with a grin. "Come to watch the action?"

"Fuckin' boring back there," Spike grunted, hoisting himself up on the bench next to Salem to peer in. "Bunch of losers don't know how to fight worth shit. Figured I'd let the fodder take each other out."

"Good call," Salem nodded. "They're havin' a little confab in there right now."

"So I see," Spike grinned. "Maybe they should settle this whole thing with a little high stakes poker."

"Poker?" Salem raised an eyebrow. "But Spike, I hardly know 'er!"

Spike rolled his eyes and swatted Salem on the back of the head. "Asshole."

"Idiot," Salem returned affectionately. "I... ooo! They're moving to the corners!"

"Go to your corners and come out fighting," Spike intoned and this time Salem got him with a well placed thwack.

From within the gymnasium, Drake's voice called out, "For The Sabbat!" and Spike and Salem tensed to watch the action.

Drake and Shelley were smart. Hanging back, they waited for the volatile Brujah to make their moves. They didn't have long.

Christine leapt almost straight up, punching through the ceiling tiles and grabbing onto one of the beams underneath. The vantage point would allow her to literally get the drop on anyone attacking.

Brujah-Boy had other ideas though. Instead of racing towards her on land, he took two steps then launched himself into the air, hands reaching out for Christine's throat. Celerity powered, the Brujah flew towards his goal.

Christine flipped up with her feet, connecting with the beam and pushing off, arching her body so that it aimed towards the flying Brujah-Boy. Launched such, she smacked full tilt into Brujah-Boy's chest, narrowly avoiding the hands going for her throat, her own two fists ploughing into his chest.

"Wham," Salem commented from outside. "There's a trapeze act that's never going to make it into the circus."

Both Brujah dropped to the ground, separated long enough for both to kip up to their feet facing each other. Brujah-Boy didn't waste a moment. He grabbed for Christine, trying to manoeuvre her into a headlock. That would make it much easier for him to knock her out quickly. He wanted the one that he considered to be the stronger fighter out of the way before his strength was sapped, so that he could concentrate fully on wiping out the other two.

Christine ducked. Barely. Her shorn hair brushed his arm even as her foot swept out to try and trip him. It was half successful. Brujah-Boy stumbled slightly on her outstretched limb, but recovered quickly enough to slam his elbow hard into Christine's face, breaking her nose and part of her cheekbone. When she stumbled back from the blow, Brujah-Boy lifted her easily and flung her away from him.

Straight into the carefully watching Shelley.

"Isn't that out of bounds?" Spike inquired.

"Nah, hitting the spectators is one of the fun parts."

Shelley grabbed for Christine's face but the momentum of the Brujah careening out of control through the air carried her past. Shelley managed to grab a leg and exerted her power of Vicissitude, twisting the limb back and sideways. Christine cried out as she landed, Shelley letting go as Christine's body knocked her to the ground. Shelley was up again in a second but Christine, who had always been incredibly dextrous, kip upped to her good foot and swung the bad in a vicious roundhouse to Shelley's face, smashing the Tzimisce's cheek.

Brujah-Boy launched himself again from behind, both feet aiming in a hard point to crush Christine's neck. Some instinct caused Christine to move slightly to one side and the feet missed enough so that she was only knocked to the ground with bruises rather than crunched bones. Brujah-Boy landed and stomped down, his foot landing squarely on Christine's face and smashing one side extremely well.

Salem winced. "That had to hurt."

Spike rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I certainly hope so. Bitch turned me down once."

Salem's eyes took on a strange light. "I'll bet I could get her if I wanted to."

Spike stuck out his hand. "Wanna bet?"

Salem shook. "Yes."

Drake circled around the gym, going closer to the corner the other three were in but staying far enough back to avoid the confrontation for the moment. He wasn't stupid. Why should he get in there and fight immediately, when the other three would probably take one or two out? Besides, Drake knew that Shelley was his strongest competition. Oh, the Brujah were good fighters, that was true. Possibly even better than he was, when you boiled it down to straight hand to hand combat. But Shelley had a brain to go along with her powerful Discipline and Drake was certain that it would eventually boil down to just them.

Shelley stepped behind Brujah-Boy, one delicate hand shooting out and grasping his spine. Through the skin with one hard thrust, she hand her hand up it swiftly, twisting it out of shape in ruthless jerks, finally dropping Brujah-Boy to the ground in contempt. With his spine completely distorted, Brujah-Boy could barely move, let alone fight any longer. Shelley kicked him as she would a stray dog, and the defeated Brujah started crawling out of the way. He may not have been pleased that he had lost, but he knew better than to stay in the vicinity of the fight where something worse than defeat might happen. He would get another chance, he knew that. This chance was lost, but someday, he would get another chance.

"Yes!" Spike exulted. "One down, two to go."

"Wow," Salem commented admiringly. "You can count. Whoda thunk it?"

Spike was too busy watching the fight to hit him again.

With Brujah-Boy out of the action, Drake decided that it was time that he got into it. Taking Shelley down was the first and foremost thing on his mind. Rushing her, he formed a shadow blade and swung it at the Tzimisce's legs.

Ignoring the prone Christine was a mistake. The Brujah swung her legs, neatly tripping Drake and sending the Lasombra sprawling on his face to the ground. Shelley spun, aware of the danger and Christine took advantage of the situation. The blood from her ruined face clouding her vision, she nevertheless spun on the ground, planting one leg on the back of Shelley's furthest leg, and then grabbing the closer with both hands trying to rip it off.

Shelley exerted a power she had only recently mastered and it was the only thing that saved her from having her leg torn off by the powerful Brujah. She turned her leg to blood and Christine's hands went right through it. Turning to Christine with a snarl on her face, Shelley tried to drive both fists down into Christine's chest but the Brujah rolled out of the way and kip upped to her feet again, albeit slower than before. Drake had climbed to his feet but didn't attack yet, as Shelley and Christine stared at each other for a moment, a new leg rapidly forming on Shelley's body to replace the one that was now soaking into the floor.

Drake dropped Shroud of Night, plunging the gymnasium into blackness.

"Damn it," Salem frowned.

"What?" Spike inquired. "It's a good ploy. Even with blind fighting training, Drake should still be able to move around better in his own darkness."

"Yeah, but it's damned inconvenient," Salem grumbled. "Now I can't see."

Spike rolled his eyes. "All righty then, I'll just go on in and tell them to turn the lights back on for you, shall I?"

Within the darkness created by the Discipline of Obtenebration, no light penetrated. Sight was useless and all three Sabbat immediately switched to other senses that would aid them in the fight. Christine leapt straight at Shelley, knowing that the Tzimisce wouldn't have had time to move yet. Both fists forward, Christine hit squarely into Shelley's chest with enough force to drive through her flesh and into the wall a few steps behind.

They both hit the wall, Christine's fists still at Shelley's chest. Dull 'clangs' and two shallow dents were the only result of her Potence backed blow. Christine was somewhat daunted by this and Shelley took advantage of the situation by bringing her knee up sharply into Christine's groin and driving both her fists from the side into Christine's waist. Pushing in, Shelley moulded the flesh beneath her hands, striving to reach Christine's spine.

With a yowl, Christine jabbed hooked fingers into Shelley's eye sockets, ripping downward as she did. Slightly off in her aim due to the darkness, Christine ended up pulling half of Shelley's face away, leaving the Tzimisce with something very like a death mask. Shelley hissed at the pain and swung Christine sideways into the wall, finally reaching the woman's spine and twisting it as she had Brujah-Boy's. Dropping the mutilated Christine to the ground, Shelley stepped away silently.

Drake, after a brief thought to picking up Brujah-Boy and slinging him into the fight, made it to Shelley's original corner, listening to the action, orienting on it. Frowning at the sudden silence after the slithering thump of someone hitting the ground, Drake took the precaution of changing to a form better suited for combat. Called the Tenebrous Form, it expanded the Lasombra in size, coated him in writhing black shadows and gave him four tentacles with which to grab. It was powerful and although he hated using it unnecessarily, if his surmise was correct and that slithering thump had been Christine, Shelley would be the one after him. Drake did not want her hands on him and the shadows would give him enough warning before she turned him into a Picasso.

Still silence. Drake frowned, not liking this and although he preferred to keep the advantage of darkness, he decided to drop the Shroud.

"Oh, hey, let there be light," Salem commented, brightening up. "And wow, Shelley is even uglier than I thought she was."

Spike laughed and threw back his head. "Let's get ready to rrrrrrumble!"

Drake stared at the monster before him. Taller by a foot than even his expanded form, the hard shelled chitinous thing before him bore only a faint resemblance to the skinny Shelley. Facing him, it was menacing, ugly and obviously ready to attack.

"So it comes to this," Drake said, moving cautiously out of the corner to where he would have more room to manoeuvre.

"As I had expected," the growl from Shelley wasn't her normal voice in any way, shape or form. It was barely recognisable as speech.

"We are the two strongest."

"Yes. This is as it should be."

Drake nodded and continued moving, circling and watching Shelley do the same. For what seemed an eternity, each monster waited for the other to move, waited for an opening, waited for a sign of weakness. Neither showed any, both Sabbat too well versed in fighting, too sharp, too trained.

Shelley made the first move. Taking a step forward, she spun and roundhouse kicked Drake in the face. Drake managed to catch the fast moving foot but Shelley, in the middle of her twist had been anticipating this. Her other leg flashed up, following the first and hit Drake solidly across the jaw, shattering it. Both fell, Drake keeping his grip on Shelley's ankle.

Twisted on the ground, Shelley brought her free leg back across Drake's face, smashing a cheekbone this time. Drake let go, knowing that in the position that he was in, he was vulnerable to it again. Rolling away, he was aware that Shelley did the same thing, both jumping to their feet at the same time, again facing across the circle.

"Round one to Shelley," Spike commented.

"Just wait," Salem replied serenely. "Drake has other tricks up his sleeve."

Drake shot the tentacles out from his sides and pinioned Shelley's arms. Driving forward, he slammed his fists into her stomach. Before he could connect though, Shelley kicked up with one strong, clawed foot and slammed him in the groin. Drake staggered backwards and Shelley followed him, punching and kicking with lightning speed. Her mutilating power apparently turned off for the moment, her blows nevertheless mangled the Lasombra in other ways.

"What other tricks?" Spike inquired, somewhat anxiously.

"Damn it, Drake," Salem pleaded under his breath, his fists balling. "Damn it, you have to win."

The fight lasted well over ten minutes, blows flickering back and forth between the two, each wearing the other down. Bones shattered, skin tore and blood coated the floor making it slick and unstable. The monsters were tiring, stumbling sometimes and staggering others. Both determined to be the last standing and both determined to take down the other.

Drake knew he wasn't going to win this. He was too exhausted to continue much longer and although Shelley was staggering some too, he just knew that she was fresher than he was. That she could last longer. Should he go down gracefully? Concede defeat?

A flicker at the outside window caught his eye during another brief moment when he and Shelley circled and Drake suddenly realised that they were being watched. Intuition told him who it was and his resolve firmed. He could never concede! He was Lasombra, he was one of the leaders of the Sabbat, he was of powerful blood and he had a promising protégé watching him and learning from him.

Drake of the Shadow Dragons was going down fighting to the last blow, or he was not going down at all.

Gathering his flagging strength, Drake let out the battle cry of his pack and shot forward, summoning every ounce of Celerity he could muster in his tired legs. His tentacles wrapped around his right arm and hand other shadows gathering from his body and joining them. Shelley had no time to get away. Drake's fist slammed into her mouth, forcing her teeth apart and shoving partway down her throat. The tentacles forced their way even further down and Drake expanded them until they burst through Shelley's skin. Shelley had time to bite down, chewing half of Drake's hand off, before she collapsed to the ground in torpor, her head nearly off from the tentacles which vanished from her throat.

"Holy shit!" Spike shrieked, his eyes wild in excitement.

"Holy shit indeed," Salem grinned happily, grabbing Spike's hands and dancing him around the playground that was now littered with the dead and dying bodies of Childer. Only a few vampires remained upright and the fighting had stopped. The Shadow Dragons around the playground, seeing Spike and Salem's crazy dance, correctly assumed the reason and whooped in response.

"He did it!" Salem cried to his blood brother. "The bastard did it!"

Drake watched as his last opponent fell and the big Lasombra finally allowed himself to sway on his feet. His wounds were serious and he was close to torpor, but he wasn't there yet. And he was the last packleader standing.

He had done it!

He, Drake of Clan Lasombra, packleader to the Shadow Dragons, was now Bishop of Toronto!

"Boo," a voice said behind him and Drake jumped, stumbling as he tried to turn swiftly.

He stared at the two figures standing side by side smiling at him. "Rat? Spiral?"

"Hiya hiya hiya!" Spiral chirped, waving madly in Drake's face. The tired and swaying Lasombra grew dizzy at the rapidly moving hand.

"Thanks for knocking everyone out for me, Drake," Rat looked around with satisfaction. "You're the best. I'll remember you to the Arch Bishop when I go to make my report as Bishop."

Drake's eyes widened and he willed his body to heal more quickly. The aggravated wounds, however, had sucked up his reserves of blood and he remained weak. "You… didn't want…"

"No, not before," Rat agreed thoughtfully. "But I do now. So, since you're the only one still standing, technically I have to fight you to officially get the status."

Drake's eyes narrowed and with an effort, he raised his fists. "You little bitch."

"You know it," Rat smiled pleasantly as she caught Drake's eyes with her own. "Nighty-night Drake. Sleep."

The Dominate command caught him and dropped the Lasombra ignominiously to the floor. Spiral ceremoniously handed Rat a stake and she carefully drove it into Drake's heart. After looking around at the other three sprawled in exhaustion on the floor, she put her hands on her hips.

"Anyone want to challenge me for Bishop status?" she asked. "Anyone? Anyone?"

"Bueller?" Spiral chimed in and Rat laughed softly.

"All right, as of this moment, I claim Bishop by right of combat." Rat scratched her nose. "I am the last packleader standing and the position is mine according to the laws and tradition of the Sabbat."

"Praise be to Caine," Spiral crowed and did a ludicrous bow to Rat, the thin strand of skin bouncing off of the top of his head.

"Praise be to Caine indeed," Rat murmured and went outside to tell the few waiting vampires what had happened.


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Maggie stepped out of the tunnel leading from the plane and directly into Salem's waiting arms. Laughing, she tilted her head up for a kiss and wasn't disappointed by the enthusiastic one planted firmly on her lips. The mouthful of his own rich blood that he gave her was even more welcome.

"Hello to you too," Maggie chuckled when the Lasombra finally let her speak.

"I missed you!" Salem told her earnestly. "Horribly! Terribly!"

"How could you?" Maggie teased him, starting them walking towards the parking lot. "You had all this fun stuff to do with the Bishop Race to keep you busy."

"I still missed you," Salem asserted, kissing the top of her head a few more times just to assure himself that she was actually, physically there in his arms.

Maggie smiled lovingly up at him. "I know. I missed you too. Thanks for the letter."

"Welcome," Salem nodded. "I figured the haven would be protected even if Buzz did take the trip. He with you?"

Maggie grinned and opened her trench coat to show the black, beady eyes of the rat peering out at them. "Yup."

Salem reached in and patted the furry head. "You're a good rat, Buzz. Thanks for leaving all your friends at the haven."

The rat chittered at him then ducked into the pocket out of reach.

"He's tired," Maggie apologised for him as they exited the terminal and made their way to where her DeLorean crouched, being openly admired by some kine standing nearby. "So how's our new Bishop?"

Salem grinned. "He's doing just fine and looking forward to you coming home."

Maggie grinned. "Rat just showed up at the Island a week later with Meer and handed over the status, eh? Just like that?"

"Yup," Salem nodded. "Said she didn't want the hassles and that Drake could have it. Meer was grinning from ear to ear, obviously pleased with the choice."

Maggie tooled her silver car out of the parking lot and onto the highway heading for home. "Did Rat ever say why she did what she did?"

Salem laughed. "Because she could."

Maggie had to laugh too. "How very Nosferatu of her! I must remember to go and congratulate her on her ploy."

"I'll come too," Salem offered. "She hangs out with Spiral a lot and that Malkavian has some really neat ideas for games."

Maggie chuckled and shook her head in mock-sorrow. "How come I have to miss all the fun, anyway? It's not fair."

Salem laughed and took her hand in his, kissing her fingertips. "Don't worry love. We're Sabbat, remember? There are always fun things to do!"

The shadows swirled in utter satisfaction and the vampire standing outside of them was smiling in relief. It had been a close call when that little Nosferatu had nearly wrecked the plans, but all had turned out for the best.

The guttural voice in the shadows hadn't even had to do anything to change the Bishop. The little Rat had done it herself.

"You are pleased then?" the vampire ventured to ask.

"Oh, yes." The guttural voice was definitely pleased. "Everything is going according to my plans now and the time is coming when the plans shall move to fruition."

The vampire jumped when the Maine Coon cat stalked out of the shadows themselves and stopped to sit before the vampire, looking up unblinkingly into the vampire's face.

"Oh yes," the guttural voice murmured, almost seeming to come from the cat itself. "Now everything is just purr-fect."


End file.
